


No Good Deed

by BlackFriar



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 92,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5586127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackFriar/pseuds/BlackFriar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No good deed goes unpunished. Bruce and Dick find out just how true that old adage is when an injury Dick receives as Robin threatens to ruin both their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“The only thing that makes life unfair is the delusion that it should be fair.” Steve Maraboli.

oOo

“Robin...Robin!”

The voice penetrating the recesses of Robin’s consciousness was loud and made his ears hurt. Really hurt. He wanted to tell it to shut up but he seemed to have temporarily lost that ability. And what the hell was that buzzing?

“ROBIN!”

He groaned. What was this guy’s problem?

“Dude, are you…? Aqualad, Aqualad! I think he’s waking up!”

Hang on! Robin knew that voice. Images swirled into focus, the closest of which was green eyes hovering directly in front of his face.

“ _Finally!_ ” the eyes exclaimed. 

“Wall-ly?” Robin rasped. And oh dear god, what was that _pain?_

The eyes blinked. “Uh, yeah. Who else would it be?” 

Robin didn’t know. Robin didn’t care, because something freaking _hurt_. His body was screaming at him – pain, pain, pain! Until at last his brain seemed to grasp the message his body was sending; something was wrong with his left arm. Rolling his head to the side – why was he on the ground? – Robin sucked in a breath when he caught sight of his mangled limb. The arm was twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle and his shoulder was sitting lower than it should have been. Huh. Dislocated _and_ broken. That was a first.

He shifted slightly, causing his arm to spasm excruciatingly, and to his utter mortification he actually whined.

So not cool.

“Mammoth pulled it right out of its socket when he grabbed you,” Wally told him, wincing. “I heard it pop.” 

“Mammoth?” Robin managed. His arm was utter agony, his head ached and something was still buzzing. It kind of made him wish he could pass out.

Wally nodded. “Dude, what were you thinking going after him like that? I mean, that move was awesome and everything, but so dumb.”

Robin stared at him. Mammoth? He’d gone after Mammoth? Wally was right, that was dumb. Batman would not be pleased.

The thought of the lecture that lay ahead made him groan, and in an instant Wally was nose to nose with him, babbling loudly. “Dude, what is it? Where else hurts? Why aren’t you saying anything? Oh my god! Yourenotbraindamagedareyou?!”

“Kid Flash, perhaps you should give him some breathing room?” a quiet voice interjected, and Aqualad’s face swam into view as Wally pulled back. 

“Sorry,” muttered the speedster sheepishly.

The older teenager knelt on Robin’s other side and addressed him calmly. “Do you have any other injuries aside from your arm?”

“M’head hurts. And buzzing.”

“Buzzing?”

“My ears.” Robin rubbed at his right ear. He had just realized that Aqualad sounded somewhat distant, as if he was talking to him from far away. 

“You were caught in the blast radius after you pulled the bomb out of the volcano. The buzzing may be a side effect of that.”

Robin gaped at him. He’d pulled a bomb out of a _volcano?!_ Why the heck didn’t he remember that?

Aqualad narrowed his eyes. “You do not remember?”

Robin shook his head, trying to remember what had happened. His last clear memory was of breakfast that morning. Or at least, he hoped it was that morning. 

Aqualad looked concerned. “We will transport you back to the cave as soon as we are finished rounding up the last of the cultists.”

“Okay.”

And then Aqualad’s concern morphed into a stern expression. “Robin, what you did with Mammoth was extremely reckless. If it were not for Superboy, your injuries would have been far worse.”

Robin squirmed under his displeased gaze. Wasn’t it a little unfair to lecture him about something he didn’t even remember? Okay, _maybe_ taking on Mammoth hadn’t been his smartest move, but he must have had a good reason for it. And if he’d pulled a bomb out of a volcano than he’d clearly done something right…right?

“Aqualad,” Artemis’ voice sounded from somewhere behind Robin’s head, “we’ve got the last of the cultists, but Kobra is gone.”

Kobra. A brief image of Batman briefing them on Kobra flashed into his brain, but it was gone before Robin could get anything tangible from it. He scowled. Amnesia was so not fun.

Aqualad sighed. “That is unfortunate. Has Miss Martian called the bio-ship?”

“It’s landing now. Should I get the stretcher?”

“I don’t need a stretcher!” Robin protested at once. He moved to sit up, only to have the world churn sickeningly. Bright lights flashed before his eyes and fiery agony roared up his arm. When the world tunnelled back to him, Robin was flat on his back gasping while Artemis stood over him.

She smirked from her upside-down angle. “I guess that’s a yes on the stretcher then?”

“Yes,” said Aqualad, the frown he shot Robin telling him he didn’t have a choice in the matter. “But first, we need to immobilize that shoulder and splint his arm for transport.”

“Can’t you just relocate my shoulder?” asked Robin in a small voice. The pain was getting worse and performing a reduction might alleviate some of it.

Aqualad shook his head. “I am sorry, Robin, but given the break to your arm it would be unwise to do so without x-rays.”

“Great.” Robin sighed. The ride back to Mount Justice would be hell, and he’d have Batman’s lecture to look forward to at the end of it.

“Here’s M’gann with the first aid kit,” Artemis interjected, looking over her shoulder. 

Wally and Aqualad immediately followed her gaze, but Robin didn’t even try: he’d already learned his lesson about not moving.

“Is Robin alright?” he heard M’gann ask anxiously.

“He will be fine once we get him back to the cave,” Aqualad replied. “Where is Superboy?”

“Securing Mammoth. The League are on their way to bring him in.” Miss Martian appeared in Robin’s line of sight and handed Aqualad the first aid kit, then smiled comfortingly at Robin.

He tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a grimace. His arm was going into spasm again and…ow! Ow! OW! The fingers of his good arm scrabbled reflexively in the dirt as he tried not to arch his back against the pain.

“Robin, are you ready?” asked Aqualad, pulling splints and bandages from the first aid kit.

“Give it…a minute,” he ground out.

Eventually, the paroxysms stopped and Robin unclenched his teeth. Head aching and feeling more than a little sick, he nodded at Aqualad. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“I’ll be careful,” Aqualad tried to reassure him.

It didn’t help. Robin knew that no matter how careful Aqualad was, immobilizing his shoulder was going to hurt. Balling his right hand into a fist, he looked away as Aqualad started to splint his arm. Wally, who was still kneeling on his other side, patted his good shoulder comfortingly.

Robin gave him a weak smile and then cried out as the nerves in his shoulder twanged. Scrunching his eyes shut, he tried to access some of the meditation techniques that Batman had taught him to deal with pain, but he was too wound up to focus. 

Something soft was placed in the gap between his injured arm and side; Aqualad was getting ready to immobilize his shoulder. Robin tried to remain limp as strapping was slid into place beneath him.

 _Just breathe_ , he reminded himself, as the first strap came up around his chest to hold his shoulder in place and pain shivered through him. He had to force himself not to instinctively lash out at Aqualad. 

“I am almost finished, Robin,” said their leader gently. “Just another minute.”

“Uh-huh,” he managed. Crap, this _hurt!_

Robin kept his eyes closed and his teeth gritted as the older boy finished securing the other straps. When at last he heard Aqualad’s voice telling him they were done, he exhaled and opened his eyes.

So never doing that again.

Aqualad was hovering over him, his face pulled tight in anxiety. “I am sorry if that hurt you.”

“S’okay,” Robin mumbled. It wasn’t like Aqualad had had a choice.

“I am going to have Miss Martian levitate you onto the stretcher, Robin. It may be less painful for you.”

Robin grimaced. When had they fetched the stupid stretcher? But he supposed that at this point, whatever hurt less was a bonus. He braced himself as M’gann raised her hand and his body was raised onto the stretcher. The motion made him feel like he might throw up. 

And then M’gann was levitating the stretcher into the air, but not even the gentle movement of her telekinesis was enough to prevent the world from listing crazily. Robin’s stomach lurched as nausea roared through him, and he only just turned his head to the side in time to avoid vomiting on himself. As he retched over the edge of the stretcher, the movement caused long spikes of pain to splinter horribly in his shoulder before reverberating down his arm. His head was throbbing and he could barely hear what Wally was yelling over the buzzing in his ears.

Agony sharpened its teeth on his shoulder, biting down hard and sending waves of raw pain across the ravaged nerves of his arm. White light exploded across his vision before the pain died down, leaving nothing but darkness behind.

oOo

Robin opened his eyes to stark white and utter silence. After several seconds of blinking confusedly, he realized what he was staring at; the ceiling in the medical bay at Mount Justice.

Uh, why was he in the med bay?

Disjointed images flickered through his brain; he’d been lying on the ground, something about Mammoth… 

“Robin,” said a deep, familiar voice to his left, and he turned his head to find Batman sitting in a chair by his bed. 

Pain flooded his arm and it all came rushing back to him. “You’re not going to yell at me, are you?” Robin didn’t think he could take a lecture right now.

“Do you deserve to be yelled at?”

“Um…no?”

His mentor stared at him with a focus only Batman could give. “You don’t sound very certain.”

“That’s because I’m not really sure what happened,” Robin admitted, trying to ignore the deep pain vibrating through his arm.

Batman frowned. “Aqualad mentioned that you appeared to be having some memory problems. How much do you remember?”

“I remember waking up on the ground and everything that happened right up to when I passed out again, but I don’t remember much after–” Robin paused as fragmented memories of being wracked with pain and Wally’s panicked speech wafted through his head. “Uh…actually, I think I might remember the bio-ship.”

“You woke up on the bio-ship, but Aqualad had to sedate you. You were disoriented and kept trying to get up. He was concerned about nerve damage to your shoulder.”

“There isn’t any, is there?” asked Robin anxiously. Long-term damage could put an end to Robin, and to acrobatics in general.

Batman shook his head. “Thanks to Aqualad’s first aid, you were spared any lasting effects – although you still needed surgery to repair the rotator cuff and some torn ligaments. And you suffered a mid-shaft, spiral fracture of the humerus which also required surgery to insert pins. Your cast will have to come off in two weeks to remove the stitches, and a new cast will be applied.”

“How long will I be out of commission?”

“Sixteen weeks minimum.”

“ _Sixteen weeks?!_ ”

Batman scowled. “Be thankful it isn’t worse. Mammoth nearly pulled your arm off.”

Robin winced. Attacking Mammoth had been a _really_ dumb idea. “I’m sorry I screwed up.”

His guardian’s expression softened. “You didn’t screw up.”

“But Aqualad said–”

“Aqualad lectured you before he had spoken to Superboy and was unaware of what actually transpired. It seems that Kobra was prepared for unexpected visitors and Mammoth was wearing kryptonite around his neck.”

Robin blinked. “Kryptonite? Seriously?”

Batman nodded. “From what Superboy has said, you were the only one who realized what was happening and went to his aid. You rushed Mammoth from behind and grabbed the kryptonite. You tossed it into the volcano just as Mammoth grabbed _you_. According to Kid Flash, the force he used was what caused the injuries to your arm.”

“Huh,” said Robin, as he was struck by a sudden flash of scaling Mammoth from behind and snatching at his neck before spring-boarding off of his head. “What about the bomb in the volcano? What was that about?”

Batman’s frown was back. “You don’t remember the mission briefing?”

Robin shook his head. “The last thing I remember before waking up on the ground is breakfast…and you complaining about the fundraiser tomorrow night.”

“Tonight,” Batman corrected him. “That was yesterday morning and the mission briefing was yesterday afternoon. You were sedated for most of last night to give your body a chance to rest.”

Robin was relieved to discover that his memory didn’t have too many holes. He could cope with a few hours of memory loss. The pain in his arm, not so much. “What was the mission about?”

“I sent the team to the island of Paramushir where Cult of the Kobra followers had been spotted gathering around the base of the Chikurachki volcano. The team were only supposed to observe what the cultists were doing, but they discovered the cultists had built some sort of pulley system on the mouth of the volcano and were planning on lowering a bomb into it. For what purpose, I haven’t yet determined.”

“When did I pull the bomb out of the volcano?” Robin tried, and failed, to hide how excited he sounded because come on, pulling a bomb out of a volcano sounded so freaking _cool!_

Batman gave him a small smile. “With the kryptonite gone, Superboy was able to challenge Mammoth, enabling you to escape. Kobra had activated the bomb and was lowering it into the volcano using the pulley. Aqualad distracted him so you could get the bomb back up, but there was only seconds left on the clock so you–”

“Tossed it off the side of the mountain,” Robin finished. Vague memories were starting to filter back to him.

Batman nodded. “You were caught in the shockwaves from the blast, that’s how you were knocked out.”

“Is that why my ears were buzzing afterwards?”

“Possibly. You have a concussion so it could have been a side effect of that too.”

 _Concussion? Yeowch._ Robin grimaced. He had really gotten the smack-down on this mission. Speaking of which, shouldn’t he be on the good drugs to take the edge off his pain? “Um, not to sound like I’m complaining or anything, but can I get something for my arm?”

“You’re already on medication. The break to your arm is severe and unfortunately, pain is likely to be an issue for a few weeks.”

Robin sighed. Wonderful. 

Batman leaned forward in his chair. “I’m taking you home this evening. You’ll be more comfortable there. I won’t be attending the fundraiser tonight either, it wouldn’t look good after you’ve been injured.”

“You’re totally just using this as an excuse because you don’t want to go.” Robin couldn’t help rolling his eyes. 

Batman looked serious. “I’m not. This isn’t an injury we can hide and you have school tomorrow… Although I may consider letting you rest,” he added with a hint of a smile when Robin pouted at him. “But we need to come up with a believable excuse for your arm.”

Robin wilted. He _hated_ this bit. The lies he had to tell so that people wouldn’t pry too deeply into why Dick Grayson had been injured. Anytime Robin suffered an injury that couldn’t be hidden, he and Bruce would concoct a story as to why. But it was hard to remember all the lies sometimes.

As if guessing his thoughts, Batman placed a gloved hand on his. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep it simple.”

Robin nodded dejectedly. No patrol, no team, no acrobatics, and trying to keep track of his lies for the next sixteen weeks? Oh, joy. He could hardly wait.


	2. Chapter 2

As he traipsed to his locker after biology, Dick couldn’t help but feel relieved that it was finally Friday. It had been a _long_ week. 

Usually he was okay with school, sometimes he even kind of liked it, but right now he was so exhausted that he was barely functioning. Courtesy of his broken arm, he’d hardly slept since the team’s mission last weekend. Bruce hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the break was severe; even with painkillers, it ached horribly. And the enormous, heavy cast running from the middle of his forearm almost to his shoulder didn’t help.

Pain flared suddenly when someone knocked into him, and Dick heard a muttered apology before the person was gone. Wincing, he bit back a snarky retort. That was another reason this whole week had felt so never-ending. As one of the shortest people in the whole freaking _school_ people couldn’t always see him in the crush between classes. Normally his reflexes helped him to avoid the clumsy and less observant students, but the stupid cast was throwing his balance off which meant he’d been smacked into more times than he cared to count over the last few days. Reaching his locker, Dick sighed. Thank god there were only three more classes to go. 

He was awkwardly juggling his books and twirling the dial on his locker when he heard Artemis’ voice from somewhere in the hall, and nearly smashed himself in the face pulling his locker door open so he could duck his head inside. 

He was totally gonna have words with Bruce about this later. What had possessed him to offer Artemis a scholarship to Gotham Academy? Okay, so _maybe_ Dick had enjoyed trolling her at first, but that had rapidly lost its appeal once he’d realized that he was going to have to spend the next few weeks carefully avoiding her so that she wouldn’t see Dick Grayson with the same injury as Robin. Because Artemis was too smart not to put two and two together. And as much as Dick liked her, he wasn’t sure if he trusted her with his secret identity yet.

“Hey, Grayson!” a loud voice yelled.

Dick looked up and groaned inwardly. Just his luck. Ryan Johnson, one of the last people he wanted to see.

Ryan was a senior and the epitome of the bullying jock archetype. The moron thrived on weaknesses he could exploit. Of course, they had to be really obvious weaknesses because he was too dumb to see anything more implicit. But he was still smart enough to stay off the teachers’ radar by picking on a different victim every week. And this week, he had declared open season on Dick. 

“Didn’t you hear me, Grayson?” Ryan demanded, materializing at his side and shoving him against the row of lockers.

“I heard you,” said Dick, rubbing his arm while he glowered at Ryan. 

“Then you should’ve answered me. It’s rude not to answer someone when they talk to you.”

“Whatever.” Dick turned away and began pulling the books he would need for his next class out of his locker.

Ryan smacked the books, knocking them to the floor. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not talking to you,” Dick retorted. Ryan didn’t scare him. It was hard to be scared of a high school bully who was little more than a walking cliché after facing off against psychopaths like the Joker.

Didn’t mean said bully couldn’t be annoying as hell though.

Ryan’s face darkened and he punched the locker beside Dick’s head. Dick merely raised an eyebrow in response. He knew part of the reason he irked Ryan so much was because he _wasn’t_ scared of him. Ryan had expected someone of Dick’s size to be terrified of him, and when Dick had subverted those expectations, the idiot had scrambled frantically to reassert what he believed should be the status quo. It would have been funny if Ryan weren’t so irritating.

“Time to adjust the attitude, Grayson, before I do it for you.”

“Is that supposed to be intimidating?” Dick rolled his eyes. “Seriously, dude, B-movies have better lines than you.”

Behind Ryan, his gang of all-brawn-and-no-brain friends sniggered, causing the older teenager to flush. Eyes narrowing in anger, he grabbed Dick’s shirt. “You think you’re something special just because Bruce Wayne adopted you? Well, you’re not. We all know _why_ he adopted you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Dick, tugging his shirt out of Ryan’s hands while trying not to wince; the older boy had yanked his sling and it freaking _hurt._

“It means that Wayne only wanted someone to warm his bed for him. Tell me, Grayson, is he really the stud that everyone says he is?”

Dick froze, unable to believe what Ryan had just suggested to him.

“Looks like I hit a nerve,” Ryan sneered, a pleased grin unfurling across his face. “What’s the matter, Grayson? Don’t like talking about your boyfriend?”

“SHUT UP!” Dick yelled, shoving Ryan with his good arm. 

“Oooooh, looks like I’ve _really_ hit a nerve.”

Dick clenched his good hand and tried to get a grip on himself. Getting angry would only give Ryan more ammunition, and he should know better than to let himself be goaded. Bruce had taught him better than that. “You know what, Ryan? You’re not worth it.” 

With considerable effort, Dick turned away and squatted down to pick up his books, trying to swallow the bile in his throat. His hands were shaking with rage, the vibrations making his arm ache. He was normally pretty good at ignoring jerks like Ryan, but it was so much harder when the taunts were about Bruce. Aside from everything he did for the city as Batman, his charitable donations as Bruce Wayne made Gotham an infinitely better place. This city owed him everything. Dick owed him everything.

He sensed Ryan stepping closer. “Not gonna talk about your boyfriend? That’s okay, maybe you’ll talk about _this._ ” 

Dick looked up just in time to see the older boy swipe something from his locker, and then smirk at him. “Wow, Grayson, you were even uglier as a kid!”

Dick’s mouth went dry. It was a picture of him and his parents, the last picture taken of them together. “You give that back!” he demanded, scrambling to his feet as quickly as he could with the cumbersome cast and snatching at the picture.

Ryan held the photograph high in the air. “Now, why would I do that?”

“Because it’s mine! Give it back!” Dick snatched at it again. God, he hated Ryan so much…

“I don’t think so. In fact, I think this picture would look better with a few edits.” Ryan backed up and raised his other hand, putting a small tear in one corner of the photograph.

Dick’s heart sped up in horrified palpitations and he jumped, trying to grab the picture from the much taller teenager.

Ryan laughed, looking utterly delighted to have finally gotten under Dick’s skin. “You want it?” he taunted, waving the picture high over Dick’s head. “What’ll you give me for it?”

“Give it back, you jerk!” cried Dick, jumping for the photograph. He could see his mother’s face smiling down at him. 

“Not if you don’t ask nicely.”

“Fine. Please can I have it back?” 

“That didn’t sound very nice. You sounded a little angry, Grayson. Try again.”

Dick was dangerously close to hitting him. “Give. It. _Back_.”

Ryan tutted. “That was even worse. I don’t think you want this picture at all.” Taking several more steps back, Ryan reached up and tore another corner of the photograph.

Feeling a little panicked because that photo was one of his most valued and irreplaceable possessions, Dick threw himself at the older boy and yanked on his arm. “Give it back, Ryan, or I swear you’ll be sorry!”

“Now, now, Grayson,” Ryan mock-scolded, while his friends pulled Dick away. “You know what school policy is on violence.”

Dick glared at him.

By now, the hallway had cleared out, save for Ryan’s moron friends and a few stragglers who had stayed behind to watch him torment Dick. They were late for class and Dick hoped that meant a teacher would come looking for them before Ryan damaged the photograph even more.

The older boy’s mouth split into a malicious grin. “You know what? Since you don’t really care, I think I’ll just get rid of this.”

Ryan reached up and Dick just _knew_ he was going to tear the picture in two. Something in him snapped and he charged at Ryan. Using the older boy’s leg like a springboard, he jumped and snatched at the photograph with his good hand. His fingers closed around the paper and he jerked it out of Ryan’s grasp.

“Get off me, you freak!” he heard Ryan’s surprised yell, before the older boy shoved him hard, knocking him backwards in midair.

Too late, Dick realized that Ryan had been standing at the top of the corridor steps. He tried to twist to lessen the impact of his fall, but the heavy cast was throwing his balance off and he smashed, cast first, into the tiled steps where he heard something crack, followed immediately by an explosion of light as his head collided with the hard edge of the steps. 

Dick could do little more than register someone’s scream before his world went black.

oOo

Artemis was relieved when the bell sounded to signal the end of English. They were studying Emily Dickenson and poetry was most definitely _not_ her forte. It didn’t help that Mr. Brown was possibly the most boring human in existence: the guy made knitting look interesting.

Grabbing her books, Artemis hurried for the door. Two classes left and she was out of here!

Out in the hall, she was surprised to find a wall of students blocking her way to the stairs. “What’s going on?” she asked the nearest student.

“Someone pushed Dick Grayson down the stairs,” he replied, not even looking at her because he was too busy staring over the heads of the students in front of them. “They had to call an ambulance.”

Artemis arched an eyebrow. Who the hell was dumb enough to pick on Dick Grayson? His dad was Bruce Wayne!

Spotting Bette Kane in the throng of bodies, Artemis pushed past several students, ignoring their protests, to reach her friend. “Hey,” she greeted, squeezing in beside her.

The other girl’s head swivelled around. “Artemis, isn’t it awful?”

Bette looked genuinely upset and Artemis was surprised: as far as she knew, Dick and Bette weren’t friends. Craning her head for a better look, Artemis sucked in a breath when she spotted the reason why Bette was so upset. 

Dick Grayson was sprawled in a tangled heap across the corridor steps. The boy was clearly unconscious and bleeding from a head wound, blood trickling down the tiled steps. Two paramedics were squatting on either side of him, carefully sliding an immobilization board beneath him. It was a horrible scene and Artemis swallowed. Another student had done this?

At the bottom of the steps stood the vice principal, Mr. Wilson, watching anxiously. Artemis could see the nervous twitch of his fingers and guessed he was worried about the repercussions for the school, especially considering who Dick’s father was. Beside the teacher stood a tall senior whom Artemis was pretty sure was called Ryan something or other. His expression was ashen and she wondered if he’d had something to do with Dick’s fall. She’d seen him teasing the younger boy before.

The paramedics finished securing Dick to the immobilization board and positioned themselves at his head and feet. Whispered murmurs ran through the crowd as the men carefully lifted the board and carried Dick down the steps to where a gurney had been left. Placing him on it, one of the men proceeded to strap him down while the other gathered up their medical equipment. 

A hush descended when the paramedics started to wheel Dick out, and the gathered students parted silently to let them through. As the men passed, Artemis got a clear view of Dick and was startled to see that he was wearing a cast. He hadn’t had that last Friday when he’d been stalking her coming out of the bathrooms.

Artemis felt the breath catch in her throat. It wasn’t a typical cast; it ran from the middle of his forearm almost to his shoulder, and it looked _exactly_ like the cast Robin had been wearing when he’d left the cave last Sunday. Same arm too.

She stared, open-mouthed, after the gurney. Was it possible…could Dick Grayson…?

Artemis gave a quick snort and shook her head. Of course not. That was crazy thinking. Dick Grayson couldn’t possibly be the Boy Wonder. 

Could he?

oOo

“Janey, Dr. Staunton needs you.” One of the nurses poked her head into the residents’ lounge at Gotham General, where Jane Lewis was literally taking her first sip of coffee after hours on her feet in the ER.

She sighed as she placed her mug back on the table. “Can’t it wait, Sue?”

“Sorry, Janey, but everyone else is still tied up with the last of the I-95 crash, and an ambulance has just brought in some kid from Gotham Academy. He’s unconscious and it looks bad.”

Jane got wearily to her feet. “I’m coming.”

“Thanks, Janey. He’s in trauma four. I’ve gotta go; I need to finish with the guy in exam six.”

Her colleague disappeared and Jane headed for the trauma rooms. Seven hours into a double shift and she was ready for a stiff drink and a hot bath. It was one of those days when she wondered why she’d ever become a doctor.

She entered the trauma room and found the new resident, Ken Staunton, and several nurses working on a boy who looked a little small to be a high school student. He was bleeding from a head wound while a heavy cast adorned his left arm. Jane could see that the cast had been smashed in three places and raised an eyebrow. It must have been some fall to damage a cast like that.

“What have we got?” she asked, pulling on a pair of gloves before moving over to the bed.

“Kid fell down some stairs and landed on his head,” Ken replied, not looking up. “BP is one-eighty over one-ten, pulse rate thirty and LOC has been almost fifty minutes. Paramedics said he hasn’t responded to any stimuli.”

Jane quickly got to work, peeling back the boy’s eyelids and shining a light into them. “Pupils are non-reactive, possible ICP. Set him up for a rapid infusion of mannitol with five percent albumin. And someone find a cast saw to get that off him,” she added, spotting blood where splinters from the shattered cast were cutting into the boy’s skin. The cast was beyond repair and that arm looked like it was swelling.

“I’ll get one,” a nurse Jane didn’t recognize offered, and began rummaging in the room’s storage cabinets.

Jane glanced at Deb, the head nurse, who was busy setting up the IV she had requested. “What concentration of oxygen is he on?” 

“Thirty percent.”

“Increase it to forty-five. Let’s try and minimize any damage.”

The nurse nodded just as a sudden whine rolled out of the boy’s mouth. Jane turned back to him and spoke softly. “Hey, it’s okay, relax. You’re in the hospital. My name is Dr. Lewis. Can you tell me your name?”

He made no response.

“Do we know his name?” Jane asked, as the nurse who had gone in search of a cast saw returned with one. 

The nurse consulted the paramedic’s notes while Ken took the saw and started to remove the boy’s cast. “Richard Grayson,” the nurse called over the noise of the blade.

Richard Grayson. Why was that name so familiar? “Richard,” Jane addressed the boy again, “can you hear me?”

Richard gave a low groan.

“Can you open your eyes for me, Richard?” There was no response and Jane tried again. “Richard, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes.”

“Why don’t you try calling him Dick?” a voice spoke up suddenly. “He prefers to be called Dick.” 

Jane looked to where a squat, nervous man was standing in the corner of the room. “Are you his father?” 

The man shook his head. “I’m Dale Wilson, the vice principal at Gotham Academy. I came with Dick in the ambulance. Is he going to be alright?”

“We won’t know anything until we have a better understanding of that head injury,” she said, returning her attention to the boy. “Rich– Dick. I know you might be feeling confused or in pain right now, but this is important. Can you let me know if you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Dick remained silent and she frowned in concern. He’d been somewhat responsive a moment ago. She shone her light in his eyes again. The right pupil responded sluggishly while the left remained dilated and non-reactive. They needed to get him up to X-ray; there was little they could do without knowing what they were dealing with.

“Get him prepped for an immediate head and neck CT,” she ordered. “Call X-ray and tell them he’s on the way.”

“You’re doing a CAT scan?” Dale Wilson demanded. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“We don’t know. That’s why we’re doing the scan,” she explained patiently. 

“But he will be alright, won’t he?” the man asked, anxiously tugging at his tie. “Oh dear, Mr. Wayne is going to be furious.”

The name clicked in Jane’s memory banks. _Now_ she knew why the name Richard Grayson was so familiar – Bruce Wayne! She groaned inwardly. Their every move would be scrutinized by all of Gotham if anything happened to the boy. She caught Ken’s eye and he shook his head. She knew he’d made the connection and come to the same conclusion that she had, and he looked equally as thrilled by it.

Jane sighed and moved to help Ken in removing the cast he had just finished cutting. The boy’s arm was definitely swelling beneath the cast, which crumbled in places as they pulled it open. Despite the blood running from where sections of the broken fibreglass had cut into the flesh, Jane’s gaze went immediately to the enormous stretch of dark bruising on Dick’s upper arm. Clearly visible, even through stitches, was a handprint. 

Her eyes came up to meet Ken’s startled expression. “Mr. Wilson,” Jane addressed the vice principal carefully, “did Dick say how he broke his arm?”

“He said he fell while on a camping trip with his guardian last weekend. Why? Is it relevant?”

“Probably not, but it might be helpful to have all the information for treatment. In fact,” Jane added, catching sight of Deb’s expression as she too noticed the bruising, “why don’t you go with Deb here and tell her everything you know about Dick’s accident today?”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Wilson agreed. “Anything to help.”

The two of them left the room and Ken immediately snorted. “Fall. Yeah, right!”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Jane cautioned. 

“Jump to conclusions! Janey, how hard do you think someone must have grabbed him to leave their entire handprint as one giant bruise? Hard enough to break his arm maybe?”

“Ken, we need more evidence before we go accusing anyone of abuse,” Jane reminded him, trying to subvert her own suspicions. They needed to remain clearheaded and impartial because this was Bruce frigging _Wayne_ they could potentially be accusing of child abuse!

“You want more evidence?” said Ken, studying the boy’s arm with narrowed eyes. “Look at that scarring on the inside of his arm.”

Jane followed his gaze and gave a quick intake of breath to see several small, circular marks there. They were obviously old scars, but they looked suspiciously like cigarette burns – something that definitely didn’t belong on the arm of a child. 

Oh. Fucking. Crap. 

Jane bit her lip, debating what to do. As doctors, they had a duty to report if they suspected child abuse. But Bruce Wayne was Gotham’s most powerful citizen; if he really was abusing this boy then they needed irrefutable proof so that he wouldn’t be able to circumvent the charges.

“Okay, get him up to X-ray for the head and neck CT,” she decided finally. “Schedule him in for a radionuclide bone scan and a skeletal survey to check for old fractures as well. And no one here is to say anything about this to _anyone_ , understand? I don’t want a media free-for-all setting up outside this ER.”

They all nodded.

“Ken, would you go with him to X-ray?” she asked. She knew they couldn’t really spare a doctor from the ER, but she had to make sure the boy came back here when radiology were done. The quieter they kept this, the better it would be.

“Of course. But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to talk to Eddie, let him make the decision.” Jane was the ER Attending and she had dealt with cases of abuse before, but this was unchartered waters – a potential shitstorm of political and social repercussions waiting to happen. Far better to let the Chief of Emergency Medicine get out of the frying pan and into the fire for this one.

Because Jane’s ass was far more flammable.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Janey, how’s the kid?” asked Ken Staunton, entering the room where Jane was just finishing suturing the wounds on Dick Grayson’s arm. The boy had returned from X-ray almost an hour ago, wearing a hospital gown from paediatrics covered in rocket-ships. Radiology didn’t have a gown small enough to fit him when they removed his school uniform. It made Jane wonder exactly how old Dick was.

“He’s still unconscious, but he’s started responding to stimuli. I’m hoping that means he’ll wake up soon so we can talk to him. It might shed some light on what really happened to his arm.” She looked up at Ken and spotted the folder in his hand. “Are those his X-rays?” 

“Yeah. I don’t have the CT results though.”

“Don’t worry, I already have them.” She nodded her head towards the file on a nearby table. “I had Radiology put a rush on it. The CT showed increased ICP due to swelling of the brain tissue, but the drugs seem to be controlling further swelling. I’ll send him for another CT later to monitor his progress.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to organize for an ICP monitor?”

Jane flashed him an irritated look. “I am not drilling a hole into the child’s skull when the swelling appears to be under control! There are too many risks involved with such an invasive procedure and it could do more harm than good.”

Ken held up his unoccupied hand in a placating gesture. “Just thought you wanted to cover all bases given who we’re dealing with.”

She sighed and stood up, pulling off her gloves. “Sorry, Ken. I’m just wound up. I’ve been paging Eddie and he hasn’t responded.”

“Still not sure how to proceed?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe these will help.” He moved over to the view board, removed the radiographs from the folder and put them up. Jane turned off the lights and came forward to look.

“Spiral fracture of the humerus,” Ken told her, pointing to the radiograph in question. “A common fracture in child abuse.”

“It’s common in young children,” Jane corrected him. “Dick is what, eleven or twelve? It’s pretty hard to twist the arm of a child that age hard enough to break it.”

“But not impossible. You saw the handprint! And his shoulder was dislocated as well. I’ve seen the news; Wayne is a big guy. I bet he could do it.”

“It’s not enough, not for someone like Bruce Wayne. We need more evidence.”

“Well, there’s always this.” Ken pointed to the second radiograph. “Angulation of the ribs at three different sites.”

Jane blinked and stepped closer. “Old fractures?” 

Ken nodded. “There’s also evidence of an old skull fracture, as well as fractures to the index and middle fingers on his left hand. _And_ he broke his right arm at some point.”

She stared at the view board. “Do we know if he’s ever been in an accident?”

“If he was, then it didn’t happen in Gotham. I checked with records and got his file.” Ken handed her a folder. “Dick has only been treated at Gotham General twice. He had his appendix out three years ago and he was treated for hypothermia last winter.”

“Hypothermia?” she queried, opening the file and flipping through it.

“Something to do with a kidnapping. There’s not much information in the notes.”

“He’s thirteen,” said Jane suddenly, catching sight of Dick’s date-of-birth. Funny, she wouldn’t have thought he was that old.

“That many injuries for a kid his age are more than a little suspicious,” Ken replied quietly. “What are you going to do?”

Jane glanced back at the radiographs on the board. The rib and skull fractures were especially troubling because they indicated serious abuse. 

“We call social services,” she decided. “We’re mandated to report this. And if it turns out that we’re wrong then at least we can prove that we had good reason to be suspicious.”

oOo

Jane was in the middle of splinting Dick’s arm when Eddie Fish finally showed up.

“Jane, I’ve just been talking to Ken – please tell me you didn’t call social services on Bruce Wayne!”

“So you want me to lie,” she answered, getting ready to stand her ground. She liked Eddie. He was an excellent doctor and one of the few people in the hospital who addressed her by her actual name, but he was still Chief of Medicine, which meant sometimes putting politics before the patient.

Eddie exploded. “Jesus Christ, Jane, what were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking about this boy,” she retorted, continuing to splint Dick’s arm.

“Jane, I get that your heart was in the right place, but you shouldn’t have done it without consulting me. This is Bruce _Wayne_ we’re talking about, the guy donates millions to this hospital every year! If you’re wrong, it’s going to paint the hospital in a very unflattering light, not to mention opening ourselves up to accusations of slander.”

“I had no choice,” she defended herself. “I couldn’t reach you and this is a serious case. If you don’t believe me, take a look at his X-rays on the board.”

He didn’t budge. “I was in a meeting, Jane. You could have waited.”

“Just look at the board, Eddie.”

He glared at her, but did as she suggested. After several minutes he let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dammit.”

“I’ve been documenting other injuries,” Jane continued. “There’s a massive bruise in the shape of a handprint right over the humerus fracture, I photographed it before I started splinting the arm. And there’s what looks like cigarette burns – old ones – on the inside of his arm, as well as some sort of scarring on his right thigh. _Someone_ has been hurting this boy, Eddie, and we’re obligated to report it.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed again. “But none of that will make this any less of a–”

He was interrupted by Ken sticking his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt but social services have arrived. And there’s someone looking for Dick Grayson. The desk staff have been putting him off for over an hour now, but he’s getting pretty insistent.”

“Is it Bruce Wayne?” Eddie asked, frowning.

Ken shook his head. “Some British guy. Says he’s the butler.”

“Go talk to him,” Eddie ordered. “Tell him we’re still treating the boy and that we only release details regarding a minor to a parent or guardian. I’ll deal with social services.”

“Got it.”

Ken disappeared and Jane shook her head in disgust. “His kid’s in the hospital and Bruce Wayne sends the butler? What a prince.”

“He’s a prince with the power to make life very difficult for this hospital,” Eddie reminded her. “So tread carefully.”

oOo

“Alfred, how is he?” Bruce demanded anxiously when he _finally_ arrived at Gotham General. He’d been in Chicago on business when Alfred had called to tell him that Dick had been rushed to hospital. Bruce had flown back immediately, his heart in his mouth the entire time.

The butler’s expression was strained. “I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.”

Bruce frowned. “Don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve been here for almost three hours!”

“Indeed, Master Bruce, but they are refusing to give me any details. They said they can only release information pertaining to a minor to a parent or guardian. They were unusually insistent about it.”

Bruce felt his stomach twist. That didn’t sound good. He swallowed and tried to keep the shake out of his voice. “Well, I’m here now, so…” He turned and strode quickly towards the information desk, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. 

“Excuse me,” he said, reaching the counter. “I want to speak to someone about Dick Grayson.”

The young woman behind the desk looked up and her eyes widened in recognition. “Uh…yes, sir, Mr. Wayne…sir! I’ll get someone– a doctor…right away!” 

She scuttled away and Bruce refrained from rolling his eyes: Alfred wouldn’t have approved. But it was hard not to be irritated when people turned into babbling idiots around him.

He turned back to Alfred. “Did you find out from the school what happened?”

Alfred’s mouth tightened in displeasure. “From what I can gather, there was an altercation with another student. Mr. Wilson informed me that the witnesses gave conflicting accounts. Some claimed an older boy was taunting Master Dick, while others insisted Master Dick just attacked the other boy. The only thing any of them agree on is that Master Dick rushed the older boy and the boy lashed out, pushing Master Dick down the stairs.”

“Do you know who the other student was?” Bruce longed to get his hands on that student and teach him a lesson or two.

“I’m afraid not, sir. Mr. Wilson said the principal would prefer to speak with you personally regarding the matter.”

“Of course he would.” Bruce shook his head in disgust. People always treated Alfred as ‘just’ the butler. They never saw how integral he was to the Wayne family. Bruce knew he should be glad – such perspectives meant Alfred was safe from the type of scum who targeted Dick – but it just made him angry. Alfred deserved better than that.

“Mr. Wayne?” a voice sounded behind him, and Bruce turned to find two women standing there. He couldn’t help but notice how serious they looked and swallowed hard.

“Yes. How’s Dick?”

It was the taller, dark-haired woman who replied. “Still unconscious.”

Bruce’s heart plummeted. “He’s _still_ unconscious?! Why? What’s wrong?”

“Unfortunately, Dick hit his head pretty hard when he fell, causing the brain to swell. It’s resulted in increased intracranial pressure. We’re treating him with drugs to reduce the swelling.”

The woman’s tone was clipped and her expression was unfriendly, but Bruce didn’t care. His only concern was for Dick. “What if the drugs don’t work? Will he need surgery?”

For some reason, the woman scowled at him. “The drugs _are_ working. Dick is starting to show signs of coming around. When he’s conscious we’ll run tests to determine if there’s been any long-term damage.”

Bruce felt the world drop out from under him. “Long-term…damage?” he managed to croak.

She gave him a strange look. “Impairments to his memory, vision, speech, motor skills – things like that.”

“Is that likely?” he asked, feeling as though he could hardly breathe.

“It’s always a possibility with injuries like this.”

“Oh god.” Bruce covered his eyes with one hand. There was a good chance that the concussion Dick had suffered last Saturday was compounding the issue. 

“Mr. Wayne, I need to speak with you regarding Richard,” the other woman addressed him suddenly.

Bruce lowered his hand and turned his attention to her. She was short and squat, with greying hair and a stern expression. Her eyes were studying him with dislike and it suddenly occurred to him that there should be no need for two doctors to brief him on Dick’s condition, regardless of who he was. His guard immediately went up. Something was off here, both women were radiating hostility.

“But isn’t that what you’re doing?” he asked, playing dumb.

The woman shook her head. “Dr. Lewis has just filled you in on Richard’s current injury, but I need to speak to you about his other injuries.”

Bruce knew at once that they must have removed Dick’s cast and seen Mammoth’s handprint. This woman had to be from CPS. “Other injuries?” he repeated with a touch of anxiety, playing the concerned, clueless parent in order to buy himself time to think. “Dick suffered other injuries?”

The woman made an impatient noise. “I’m talking about his arm, Mr. Wayne.”

“The one he broke last weekend?” Bruce plastered a horrified expression on his face. “He didn’t do more damage, did he?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s just it, Mr. Wayne, we don’t believe that Richard was the one to do that damage in the first place.”

Bruce blinked, pretending to look taken aback. She was definitely with CPS. Shit. “I’m sorry but who are you?”

“My name is Margaret Elliot and I represent Gotham CPS.”

Bruce crinkled his forehead in a display of confusion. “Child Protective Services? Why are you here?”

“I called them,” the other woman – Dr. Lewis – informed him. 

Bruce glanced back at her, maintaining his confused expression. “Why?”

“Because I found strong evidence that Dick is being abused,” Dr. Lewis replied, glaring at him. 

Bruce allowed his jaw to fall open. “Abused?! Are you implying…you think I… My god, NO! Dick is my son, I would _never_ hurt him!”

“We have evidence that suggests quite the contrary,” Margaret informed him coldly. “Richard’s arm was broken and his shoulder was dislocated. Can you explain the bruise in the shape of a handprint on Richard’s arm, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce pretended to look relieved. “Oh, that. Yes, I can. I’m afraid that was my doing– but not for the reasons you think,” he hastened to add. He cringed inwardly, hating how dim he had to make himself appear, but he needed them to think that he was too dumb to lie believably. “Dick and I were camping in Colorado last weekend and we went caving. We’re both into extreme sports.” He gave the women his most insipid ‘Brucie’ smile. “Dick fell through a deep crevice and I grabbed him before he could drop. Unfortunately, the speed of his fall and the force I grabbed him with…well…” Bruce trailed off and shrugged, forcing his expression into one of regret and guilt.

The women didn’t look convinced. “And you expect us to believe that?” Margaret snorted.

“I know how it sounds. But I do have a witness: our caving expedition guide.” There was no caving expedition guide of course, but it was insanely easy to create people who didn’t exist. 

“That doesn’t explain his other injuries,” Dr. Lewis spoke up.

Bruce frowned. “Dick fell at school. I can hardly be held responsible for that.”

Margaret pursed her lips. “Those aren’t the injuries she’s referring to. The hospital performed a skeletal survey and a radionuclide bone scan. Both revealed that Richard has suffered from broken ribs and a fractured skull in the past, as well as breaks to his right arm and the fingers of his left hand. And he has what looks like cigarette burns on his left arm. How do you explain that, Mr. Wayne?”

He couldn’t explain it. The broken arm, the fractured skull and the busted ribs were the result of the beating Dick had received from Two-Face during his first year as Robin. The broken fingers were courtesy of Harley Quinn’s mallet, while the cigarette burns had been the start of Joker’s attempt to ‘roast’ a bird. Bruce suppressed a shudder at that last one. It was the only time Joker had ever gotten his hands on Robin, and if Batman hadn’t found the boy so quickly they wouldn’t be standing here now. 

Not that standing here was much better. Bruce hadn’t anticipated the skeletal survey or the bone scan, and he wasn’t prepared to account for all of those injuries. “Am I to understand,” he spoke with dangerous calm, once more buying himself time to think, “that this hospital exposed my son to completely _unnecessary_ levels of radiation without any consent from either myself or him?”

Dr. Lewis blanched visibly. “We acted in Dick’s best interests, Mr. Wayne. A bruise in the shape of a handprint on Dick’s injured arm is very suspicious.”

Bruce frowned again. “If I were anyone else, would you have performed such expensive and unnecessary tests? Or would you just have called in social services?”

Dr. Lewis’ eyes darted uneasily towards Margaret Elliot, telling Bruce his questions were right on target. 

Margaret came to her rescue. “Mr. Wayne, the hospital’s actions are not under investigation. Yours, however, are. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“You mean can I explain Dick’s injuries?”

The CPS agent nodded.

Bruce sighed. “I can account for some of those injuries, but not all. I didn’t adopt Dick until he was nine, so I can’t speak for what happened before he came into my care. But you should know that he was a trapeze artist with a travelling circus. I imagine some of those injuries came from that.”

He could tell at once that Margaret Elliot was fully aware of Dick’s background, while Dr. Lewis was not.

“And the injuries that you can account for?” Margaret prompted, her face impassive.

“The broken arm and one of the broken ribs were caused by a horse riding accident during Dick’s first year living with me. The broken fingers happened when he was trying to build a tree house and got carried away with the hammer.” Bruce hid a smile at that last lie. Dick had not been impressed with the excuse to cover for his broken fingers, claiming it made him look like a dumb kid. But Bruce had insisted. At eleven, Dick had been too old for the catching-his-fingers-in-a-door excuse, but too young for anything more extreme. 

“That all sounds conveniently in order, Mr. Wayne,” said Margaret coldly. “But why was Richard never brought to the hospital for those injuries? Surely broken bones warrant immediate medical care, especially for a child.”

“Dick did receive medical care,” Bruce responded, equally icy. It was getting harder to remain civil when all he wanted was to see Dick. “I brought him to see Dr. Leslie Thompkins at the Gotham Clinic.”

“Gotham _Free_ Clinic?” Margaret clarified, raising an eyebrow.

“I paid for his treatment,” said Bruce, more defensively than he’d intended. “Dr. Thompkins is Dick’s paediatrician, as well as my own doctor. I’ve known her for years and trust her completely.”

“Tell me, Mr. Wayne, why would a man of your position bring his only child to a free clinic in one of Gotham’s most unsavoury areas instead of bringing him to one of the best medical facilities on the east coast? Unless he had something to hide of course.”

Bruce clenched a fist and felt Alfred’s hand on his arm, cautioning him against losing his temper. He’d completely forgotten about his faithful old friend throughout this exchange, and he flashed the older man a grateful look as he unclenched his fist and forced himself to relax.

“Ms. Elliott,” he began, keeping his tone calm, “my reasons for bringing Dick to see Dr. Thompkins are _because_ of my position. It brings a certain level of attention that I try to keep Dick from being exposed to. For example, by the time I leave here tonight, someone in this hospital will have contacted the media and there will be a host of reporters waiting for me outside. In all the years that I’ve been attending Dr. Thompkins’ clinic, such a thing has never happened to me there. Besides, unless something like X-rays are required, Dr. Thompkins generally comes to Wayne Manor to see Dick. I prefer to keep him out of Gotham’s less desirable areas.”

Bruce wasn’t completely lying about that. As Robin, Dick spent most of his time in Gotham’s most dangerous districts, and while Bruce wasn’t happy about it, Robin could handle himself.

Dick couldn’t.

As an ordinary boy, Dick didn’t have the same defences that he did as Robin; he couldn’t use any of his skills without revealing himself as Robin. He was vulnerable in the city, more than most because of who Bruce was, and Bruce was fiercely protective of him as a result. Something that Dick never failed to grumble about.

Margaret Elliot was studying him with a suspicious expression on her face. “I don’t see why some media vultures would keep you away from a first-rate medical facility. It may be inconvenient but a little press never hurt anyone.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? Three years ago, Dick had his appendix out in this very hospital. Two men, disguised as doctors, entered his room in the middle of the night and tried to abduct him. Because of the press presence, they knew exactly where to find him and how to get to him. Last winter, Dick was treated here for hypothermia after he was kidnapped and locked in a freezer. _Three_ times, a member of the press got into his room and harassed him while he was recovering, both from his injuries and a traumatic experience. So, I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m not overly fond of bringing Dick here.”

Both women looked rather stunned by Bruce’s words. In fact, Dr. Lewis looked outright horrified.

Bruce didn’t care. He was done with this charade. “Ms. Elliott, I am not hurting Dick and he will tell you the same thing once he regains consciousness. Now, if you have no more questions, I want to see my son. Dr. Lewis, could you take me to him, please?”

But before the doctor could respond, Margaret Elliot stepped forward. “Hold it right there, Mr. Wayne. You may have an answer for everything, but I still have to verify them. And I need to account for Richard’s other injuries. I have no intention of letting you near the boy so that you can coach him on what to say.”

Bruce felt something cold wash over him. “Meaning?”

“Meaning as of this moment, I am removing Richard Grayson from your custody. In the interests of this CPS investigation, you are forbidden from having any contact with the child.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce stared at her. “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m completely serious, Mr. Wayne. My job is to ensure the welfare of this child, and right now I don’t trust that you are a safe guardian for him.”

“Of course I’m a safe guardian for him!”

The CPS agent looked grim. “That remains to be seen. There will be a preliminary hearing within the next few days so I suggest you contact your lawyer. And, Mr. Wayne, any attempts to communicate with Richard will not go in your favour. Understood?”

Bruce nodded weakly.

She turned to the other woman. “Dr. Lewis, thank you for contacting us. CPS will be in touch with you regarding testimony.”

_Testimony?_ Cold horror trickled through him. They were really doing this. They were trying to take his son.

Nodding at them, Margaret Elliot turned and left. Bruce watched her go before turning to face the doctor. “Why would you do this?” he demanded angrily.

“Because I was concerned.” She glared at him. “You think seeing children being abused and taken from their homes is something I enjoy?”

“I’m not abusing Dick!”

“Then let the courts prove it. If you really are innocent then what have you to be afraid of?”

“I would say the possibility of losing my son gives me plenty to be afraid of,” Bruce replied coldly.

She narrowed her eyes. “Like I said, Mr. Wayne, if you’re innocent then what have you to be afraid of? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather busy. Good day, gentlemen.”

The doctor walked away, her shoulders stiff with disgust. Bruce turned to Alfred in despair. “She thinks I’m guilty. They both do.”

“Well, Master Bruce, you shall just have to show them that they’re wrong,” Alfred replied firmly.

He sounded confident, but Bruce knew him well enough to see that he was worried. The tiniest twitch to his left eye was his tell. Bruce swallowed hard. Alfred was a pro when it came to dealing with CPS – he’d done it often enough when Bruce was a boy. And if he was worried…

Bruce swallowed. “This won’t be easy, will it?”

The butler laid a hand on his arm. “Probably not, but I daresay you will not let that stop you from fighting for him.”

Damn straight it wouldn’t. Bruce would always fight for Dick. And this was one fight where he intended to come out swinging. “I’m calling Kevin Green,” he said decisively, pulling out his cell phone. His lawyer needed to get on this ASAP.

“Sir, before you contact Mr. Green, might I make a suggestion?”

“What is it, Alfred?” 

“The hospital will not permit us to see Master Dick, removing any reason for us to stay here. We should consider leaving before the press arrive. They will be rather unpleasant once word of this reaches them. Leaving would allow you to contact Mr. Green from the privacy of the car.”

The billionaire opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut as the truth of Alfred’s words hit him. He wilted in defeat. The last thing he wanted to do was leave, but Alfred was right; this was going to get ugly. 

And Dick would be caught right in the middle of it.

oOo

Arriving at his lawyer’s office the next morning, Bruce felt worn out. He hadn’t been to bed yet, and while he was used to surviving on little to no sleep as Batman, the emotional strain of this was tearing him up. Over the last four years, Dick had come to mean everything to him. He couldn’t lose him.

Upon leaving the hospital, the first thing he had done was contact his lawyer, Kevin Green. The man had assured him that he would do everything in his power to get Dick back. The billionaire had wanted to meet with him immediately but Kevin pointed out that he would need to gain access to CPS’ notes before being ready to discuss the case. Bruce had reluctantly agreed to wait until morning, insisting that they meet first thing.

He had spent the rest of the evening creating a fake identity for the caving guide that he and Dick had supposedly been with when the boy had broken his arm. Oliver Benson was thirty-two and had been caving since he was fifteen, eventually setting up his own caving expedition company at thirty. Bruce had forged a birth cert, school and medical records, and a college degree for Oliver. He had also hacked into the DMV to upload a falsified driving licence – complete with a composite image – _and_ the government’s social security website to imput a social security number for the fictitious guide. Oliver’s company had been given a similar treatment with its own website and business licence. It was over the top, but Bruce knew his position meant he would be subjected to a more in-depth investigation by CPS and the press. He couldn’t afford to leave loose ends that would unravel everything.

He had also contacted Leslie to ensure her notes in Dick’s medical records matched the stories he had given Margaret Elliot. The doctor had been horrified to hear what was happening and promised Bruce that she would try to see Dick in the hospital. As Dick’s paediatrician, no one would question her reasons for doing so. Bruce had even gone as far as contacting Martian Manhunter to ask if he would shapeshift into the imaginary Oliver Benson should his testimony be required. Even though he was loathe to ask a fellow Leaguer for help, Bruce was willing to ignore his pride when it involved Dick. 

But as he strode through the plush lobby of Jackson and Green, Bruce was concerned that he still hadn’t managed to accomplish the most important task of all, which was talk to Dick. He needed to make sure their stories matched before CPS questioned the boy. 

He had hoped to talk to Dick the night before, and Batman had slipped into the boy’s hospital room sometime after midnight with that intention. Unfortunately, Dick had still been unconscious – something that disturbed him greatly. What if this prolonged unconsciousness was a sign of brain damage?

Bruce sighed heavily as he hit the button for the elevator and the doors pinged open. He hadn’t even been able to stay with Dick because he was in the ICU and nurses were continually coming in to check on him. Stepping into the elevator, he pressed the button for the third floor. As the doors slid closed and the lift jerked upwards, Bruce reflected on the only advantage that Dick’s continued unconsciousness brought them; CPS would be unable to question him. 

It gave him little solace.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and Bruce stepped out before the doors had even finished opening. A secretary showed him to the boardroom rather than Kevin’s office, and Bruce was surprised to find an attractive blond woman with his lawyer. The table was littered with files and Bruce frowned. Kevin had involved someone else in this? The billionaire didn’t like the idea of a stranger poking through his personal life. 

“Mr. Wayne, good morning,” said Kevin, getting to his feet as the secretary closed the door.

“Morning, Kevin,” Bruce greeted him, shaking the lawyer’s proffered hand while his eyes went questioningly to the woman sitting at the table. 

Kevin responded accordingly. “Mr. Wayne, this is Amanda Ryan. She joined the firm six months ago and her speciality is family law. I think her expertise will be very helpful.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne,” said the woman crisply, remaining where she was. She radiated a distinct no-nonsense attitude that reminded him of Leslie.

Bruce inclined his head. “Likewise, Ms. Ryan.”

Formalities dispensed with, Kevin sat back down, indicating to Bruce to do the same.

The billionaire complied, getting straight to the point. “How bad is this?”

“Well, it’s not good,” said Kevin carefully. “I’ve got Dick’s hospital records as well as the notes from CPS… It seems Dick has a lot of old injuries that you can’t account for?”

“I adopted Dick when he was nine,” Bruce pointed out. “He was raised in a travelling circus as a trapeze artist before that. Some of those injuries must have happened then.”

Amanda leaned forward. “The problem is _proving_ that, Mr. Wayne. Tracking the medical records of a travelling circus from several years ago would be next to impossible. It doesn’t help that Dick sustained injuries whilst in your care that look highly suspicious, not to mention that taking him to Gotham’s Free Clinic for treatment instead of Gotham General makes it look like you had something to hide.”

“But Leslie Thompkins is his paediatrician,” Bruce protested.

“She’s also an old friend of yours, and you donate vast sums of money to her clinic on a regular basis. That’s going to cast doubts on her credibility as a witness.”

“You sound like you think I _am_ abusing Dick.”

The woman sighed in exasperation. “Of course I don’t think that, Mr. Wayne. But I want you to understand how much of a fight you have on your hands: those X-rays are very persuasive evidence.”

Bruce scowled. “Was it even legal to perform those X-rays without mine or Dick’s consent? They exposed him to a lot of unnecessary radiation.”

“Hospitals are within their right to perform whatever tests they see fit when they suspect child abuse,” Amanda replied. “The courts will balance the benefits of rescuing a child from an abusive home against the radiation dose of an X-ray.”

Bruce’s shoulders slumped. “So how do I prove that I’m not abusing my son?”

“You can’t,” Amanda told him seriously. “To be honest, Mr. Wayne, the outcome of this case is going to hinge on what Dick says to CPS. At thirteen, he’s old enough for his testimony to be taken seriously by the courts. If what he says corroborates your account of his injuries then no judge will rule to permanently remove him from your care.”

“But he’s unconscious in the hospital,” Bruce reminded her. “What if he has memory problems when he regains consciousness? What if he _doesn’t_ regain consciousness?” He shuddered at either thought.

It was Kevin who answered. “That could present a bit of a problem but it’s one we can work around. Your name is strongly associated with philanthropy in this city, and your good deeds are going to make it harder for a judge to believe that you are capable of child abuse. Plus, you have an advantage over CPS in that you can provide better security for Dick, something this morning’s papers clearly prove.”

Bruce blinked. “What do you mean?”

Kevin and Amanda exchanged a look. “You…haven’t seen the papers this morning?” Kevin asked carefully.

Feeling his stomach dip, the billionaire shook his head. Having no desire to see the headlines accusing him of abusing Dick, Bruce had asked Alfred to cancel their deliveries for the foreseeable future. “Why? What’s in the papers?”

The lawyers once more exchanged an uncomfortable look before Kevin reached behind a stack of folders and pulled out a newspaper, which he handed to Bruce. 

Bruce’s eyes widened at the picture on the front page: a large, full-colour image of Dick, unconscious in his hospital bed. The photograph clearly showed the splint on his arm and the bandage around his head. It also showed Dick wearing a hospital gown covered in rocket-ships – something Bruce hadn’t noticed in the dark of the room the night before. It made the boy look far younger than thirteen.

“How the _hell_ did this happen?” he growled, crushing the paper in his hands.

Kevin grimaced. “A paparazzo got into Dick’s room last night and took the picture. It’s front page of almost every paper this morning.”

“WHAT?!” 

“Calm down, Mr. Wayne,” Amanda instructed. “Yes, it’s despicable that someone would target an injured child like this, but the photograph will work in your favour.”

“How could this work in my favour?” Bruce demanded, shaking the crumpled paper towards her with the screaming headline, _Bruce Wayne Accused of Child Abuse._

“Because it gives weight to your reasoning for not bringing Dick to Gotham General for treatment,” she replied coolly. “And the biggest issue we’re facing after the X-rays is the question of why a man in your position had Dick treated at a ghetto clinic instead of a hospital. It makes people wonder what you had to hide. This picture will help to circumvent that because you told CPS that you don’t like bringing Dick to Gotham General for this very reason.”

Bruce shook his head, a more immediate concern plaguing him. “I don’t want Dick exposed like this. Isn’t there anything I can do to stop it from happening again? Can I pay to have security placed outside the door to his hospital room?”

Amanda shook her head. “I would advise against it, Mr. Wayne. CPS could use it against you by suggesting that you’re trying to get someone close to Dick to either influence or intimidate him.”

“But that’s ridiculous! If they really have Dick’s best interests at heart then why leave him vulnerable?”

“They won’t,” Kevin responded. “It’s in CPS and the hospital’s best interests to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I guarantee you, Mr. Wayne, Dick will have security after that picture. And,” he added, when Bruce opened his mouth to object, “as your lawyer, I _can_ contact CPS and the hospital to make sure of that.”

“Fine,” Bruce ground out. He was seething at the idea of someone creeping into Dick’s hospital room and taking his photograph while he was so vulnerable. It was the worst invasion of privacy that Bruce had ever seen. “What happens now?”

“CPS will file a petition with the courts,” Amanda replied. “If the courts don’t dismiss it – and I can’t see any reason why they would – you’ll be served. You’ll also receive notice of the jurisdictional hearing.”

“What will that involve?” 

“CPS will have to prove the allegations in its petition. They’ll present the evidence they have, and we’ll be given the chance to cross-examine and present our own evidence. But the burden of proof will be on CPS. If they can’t convince the judge that you’re abusing Dick, then the case will be dismissed and CPS will have no further authority to continue investigating your family.”

“And if they do convince the judge?”

“Then most likely an order of temporary custody will be granted, formally placing Dick in CPS care. Placement for Dick will then be established, and the judge will set the dispositional hearing date.”

“Dispositional hearing?” Bruce repeated anxiously. “What’s that?”

“The dispositional hearing is to decide on Dick’s long-term placement,” Amanda explained, giving Bruce an almost sympathetic look. “Basically, the courts will decide whether Dick can be returned to your care or–”

“Or whether I’ll lose him for good,” Bruce finished grimly.

oOo

Artemis watched what felt like Wally’s hundredth over-the-top stunt and wondered if the speedster had been dropped on his head as a baby. M’gann clearly wasn’t interested in him and Wally was verging on ‘special child’ territory with his continued attempts to impress her. But then, it was Saturday afternoon and they hadn’t yet received a mission assignment. The lack of anything to do was probably driving the hyper speedster to distraction. And without his usual partner-in-crime there to distract _him_ , he was driving everyone else to distraction as well.

M’gann was showing her usual tolerance for Wally’s pathetic attempts to flirt, but Superboy looked like he was ready to stage a less-than-subtle intervention. Even Kaldur, who was trying to watch the news, seemed more than a little irate. Artemis hoped for all their sakes that Robin wouldn’t be out of commission for too long.

Robin.

Artemis sighed. She had mulled over the possibility that Robin might be Dick Grayson until her head hurt, but she still hadn’t come to a satisfactory conclusion. Her initial reaction had been to dismiss Dick as a crime fighter; he was short, slight, and far too small to hold his own against the scum of Gotham city. 

Until logic reminded her that Robin was small too. If Artemis hadn’t known what Robin was capable of, she would have laughed at the idea of him as a hero. And maybe that was the point. Robin’s size made criminals underestimate him, why shouldn’t the same thing apply to his civilian identity? After all, by making Dick Grayson as nerdy as possible, no one would ever connect him to Robin the Boy Wonder.

Except making him a mathlete might be taking it a step too far.

Artemis pursed her lips. Dick Grayson was an honour roll student and a mathlete honoree freshman who took sophomore math, despite the fact that he had already skipped a whole grade. His academic prowess made it hard for Artemis to believe he was Robin. It just wasn’t possible for anyone to maintain such high academic standards when they were spending their nights fighting crime. She should know; it was a constant battle to maintain decent grades when she lived a double-life as a crime-fighting vigilante. And she didn’t have the same level of social obligations that Dick as Bruce Wayne’s son had. Dick couldn’t be Robin; it just wasn’t possible.

But ‘not possible’ didn’t explain the strange coincidence of Dick showing up with the same broken arm as Robin. Nor was the broken arm the only parallel. Now that she was looking, Artemis couldn’t ignore the physical resemblance between them. 

But then there was the whole Bruce Wayne thing. Because it stood to reason that if Dick Grayson was Robin, Bruce Wayne had to be Batman. And the idea that Gotham’s biggest playboy could be Batman just didn’t add up in her book. Not to mention that the idea of Batman flirting his way through the female population of Gotham just flat-out messed with her head. But what if that was another ruse to discourage anyone from looking too closely at–

A loud crash interrupted her thoughts and Artemis looked up to see Wally on the ground, where he had clearly tripped over his own feet. She smirked. “Nice move, Kid Klutz.” How he didn’t get himself killed on missions, she would never know.

Uncharacteristically, Wally ignored her, scrambling to his feet while staring at the news report that Kaldur was watching. Artemis raised an eyebrow and turned her attention to the TV as well.

An image of Gotham General was on the screen. From what Artemis could see behind the blonde reporter facing the screen, the outside of the hospital was thronged with cameras and news-reporters. She zeroed in on what the reporter was saying.

“…still unconscious and has been unable to confirm or deny the accusations against Bruce Wayne.”

A picture of Dick Grayson appeared on the screen and Artemis’ eyes widened; he was unconscious in the photo and wearing a hospital gown. The picture had obviously been taken in the hospital, but who was low enough to creep into his room while he was unconscious to take that photograph? And what did the woman mean about accusations against Bruce Wayne?

“What’s that about?” she asked Kaldur, pointing to the TV, but Wally shushed loudly before the Atlantian could respond.

Both she and Kaldur glanced at the speedster in surprise, but he ignored them and remained staring, wide-eyed and unblinking, at the television. 

“Wally, are you alright?” asked Kaldur.

“Huh?” The redhead blinked and looked at him. “Me? Oh. Yeah…I’m fine. Totally cool. Beyond cool. In fact, I’m just going for a run.”

Before any of them could respond, he was gone, leaving behind a blast of air and his teammates staring after him.

After a minute’s silence, M’gann ventured uncertainly, “Is…Wally okay?” 

“He’s fine,” Superboy replied irritably. 

Kaldur nodded his agreement. “He probably just needs to burn off some energy. He has been rather restless today.”

Artemis glanced back at the TV where the news was now focusing on a plane crash in South America. She highly doubted that Wally’s sudden disappearance was down to his hyperactivity, he had been quite content to remain here and drive them all crazy until he saw the report about Dick Grayson. That news report had clearly freaked him out. But why would Wally care about some rich kid from Gotham City? 

Unless he knew him. 

Artemis swallowed. The only possible way for Wally to know the son of a world famous billionaire was if said boy was also a crime-fighting hero. And since Artemis had often suspected that Wally knew Robin’s real identity, it looked as though her hunch about Dick Grayson was correct.

And from what Artemis had just seen, it looked like he was in a whole mess of trouble.


	5. Chapter 5

It was the worst headache of Dick’s life. That much he was certain of. Agony blared up from inside his skull, hammering outwards with excruciating force. A low moan echoed from the back of his throat.

“Richard,” a deep, unfamiliar voice addressed him suddenly, startling him. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Dick made several attempts to comply, if only to see who was speaking, but his lids refused to obey. He tried to move and a violent pain lanced down his arm, making him gasp.

“It’s alright, Richard,” the same voice spoke again. “Just nod your head if you can hear me.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not when his head felt like it was about to explode. Dick tried to speak instead, but all that came out was a series of garbled syllables. His arm throbbed horribly and he felt himself begin to panic. What was going on?

“It’s okay, Richard, I’m here to help. My name is Dr. Phillips.”

Doctor? That meant hospital. He was in a hospital. But something was missing. Something important. Dick tried to focus his fractured thoughts and an image of a dark-haired man slipped through the cracks. Bruce. Where was Bruce?

“Ba…Buh…” Dick started at the nonsense spilling out of his mouth.

“It’s alright, Richard,” the voice soothed. “Just relax.”

Except it wasn’t alright. Dick didn’t understand what was happening; his body wasn’t responding the way it was supposed to, while the pain in his head made him want to vomit. And where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he here? Dick could feel his panic turning to fear. Something was beeping frantically nearby.

“Should I fetch someone?” a crisp female voice spoke up.

“No,” the first voice – Doctor Phillips – replied. “Just give him a few minutes. Richard, you can do this. You opened your eyes for me earlier, do you remember?”

No. Dick didn’t remember. Dick had no idea who this man was. He just wanted Bruce.

“Buh…Brsss…” he tried again.

“What did he say?” asked the female voice.

“It’s just gibberish, Ms. Elliot,” said Dr. Phillips. “I already told you, the boy has woken up a few times but he hasn’t been coherent.”

 _But I am coherent,_ Dick wanted to say, except that he seemed to be trapped in his own body, unable to speak or move. “Brss…” He swallowed and tried again. “Brssss…” 

“The boy definitely said something,” the woman insisted, sounding closer. “He said his guardian’s name, I’m sure of it!”

“Ms. Elliot. Step. _Back!_ ” 

Sensations other than pain were returning to Dick. He could feel something soft beneath his body and something warm lay over him. The fingers of his right hand twitched and he moved them, feeling relief at regaining control of at least _some_ part of his body.

“That’s it, Richard,” said Dr. Phillips encouragingly. “You’re doing great. Just relax for a few minutes and then see if you can open your eyes.”

Dick took several shaky breaths before finally managing to open his eyes, shutting them instantly when light seared into his brain. 

“Easy, Richard, take it slow,” the doctor cautioned. 

Dick swallowed before opening his eyes once more, blinking rapidly to let the light filter in. Slowly, the sharp brightness dimmed and the figure of a grey-haired man in owlish glasses and a white coat came into view. Dick squinted up at him and the man smiled kindly.

“Good boy. Now, if you understand me, I want you to blink twice.”

Dick complied, feeling some of his fear drain at being able to communicate. He could hear the frantic beeping getting quieter as well. “Br…Brusss…” he managed to get out.

“I’m afraid Mr. Wayne isn’t here right now,” said the doctor. “You’ve been quite ill, Richard, and you’re in the hospital.”

Well, duh. He’d already figured that much. What he wanted to know was _where_ Bruce was. “Wwww…www…wers…Bruss?”

“He isn’t here right now,” repeated Dr. Phillips. “You suffered a head injury and you were unconscious for almost twenty-four hours. You’ve spent the last few hours drifting in and out. Do you remember any of that, Richard?”

It took Dick several seconds to get his mouth to cooperate. “Nnnn…nnn…no…”

The doctor removed a small flashlight from his coat pocket. “I’m just going to shine this light in your eyes to see how they respond, okay, Richard?” 

Dick tried not to wince when the light hit his right eye, and then his left. 

Dr. Phillips switched off the light. “Now, I’m going to move this in front of your face and I want you to follow it with your eyes. Can you do that for me?”

Again, Dick’s mouth struggled to form the word. “…k…”

The doctor held the small flashlight in front of his face, moving it slowly left and right. Dick’s eyes tracked it, and the doctor repeated the exercise several times until he was satisfied.

“Excellent, Richard. You’re doing really well. I’m just going to ask you a couple of questions now. Is that alright?”

Dick tried to respond, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make his mouth form the word yes. He stared at the doctor in panic. What was _wrong_ with his speech?

“It’s alright, Richard,” said the doctor calmly, obviously guessing the cause of his distress. “Speech problems are common after a head injury, but it often resolves itself after a few days so try not to worry.”

Easy for him to say! What if it didn’t resolve itself? 

But the doctor didn’t elaborate on that. “I’m going to ask you those questions now, Richard. If you’re having trouble answering, just blink once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?”

Dick blinked, wishing Bruce was here. He knew it was a little childish, but he couldn’t help it. He was hurting terribly and he just wanted a familiar face.

“Good boy. Do you know where you are?”

Dick blinked once.

“And do you remember who you are?”

Dick blinked again.

“Do you remember what happened to put you in the hospital?”

Dick thought about it. He’d been on a mission with the team and something had happened with Mammoth– hang on! That was Robin stuff and Bruce wouldn’t bring him to the hospital for Robin stuff. Dick wracked his aching head. No, Mammoth had been last week and he’d been in school all week…hadn’t he? An image of a smirking Ryan Johnson flashed into his head and Dick chewed on his lip, feeling like something had happened between them. He could remember stairs, but he wasn’t sure whether it was real or not. Time to try speech again. 

“Ssssss…ssssk…skool?” he warbled, feeling irritated and scared at how uncertain he sounded, like a little kid.

The doctor nodded. “That’s right, Richard, something happened at school. You’re doing great. Only a few questions left. I know your head and your arm are probably hurting, but do you have pain anywhere else?”

“Nnnn…n-no…”

“Any nausea?”

Dick blinked once.

The doctor looked concerned. “And what about the pain in your head, is it very bad?”

Dick gave a long, slow blink because ‘very bad’ was an understatement. The pain was excruciating and he was close to throwing up.

“I’ll give you something stronger for that when we’re done. I’m just going to test a few of your physical responses and then I’m going to let you rest, okay?”

Sighing, Dick blinked.

“Don’t worry, this won’t take long. I’m only going to test basic responses for now.”

Dick hoped they were _very_ basic: the pain in his head was awful and he just wanted Bruce.

“Now, Richard, I know this is going to sound a little funny, but can you stick out your tongue for me?”

Exhaustion creeping in at the edges, Dick stuck his tongue out.

“Can you move it from side to side?”

Even though he felt stupid, Dick did as asked. He knew motor coordination responses were important to assess after a head injury.

“Now, we’ll test the responses of your good arm so I want you to touch the tip of your thumb to the tip of your index finger.”

It took Dick a few seconds before he managed to accomplish it successfully.

“Good. Now lift the arm a few inches off the bed for me.”

Dick complied, although his arm trembled from the strain. It scared him how weak he felt, and he wished with all his heart that Bruce was here.

“Okay, Richard, this is the last thing for now, I promise.” The doctor moved to the foot of the bed and uncovered his feet. “I’m just going to test the reflexes of your feet.”

Dick felt pressure on the sole of his right foot and his toes automatically curled. The pressure was repeated on his left foot with the same response.

“Excellent.” Dr. Phillips covered his feet again and came back to stand beside him. “You felt both of those, right?”

Dick blinked. He was so tired and he hurt so much. 

The doctor patted his arm gently. “You did great, Richard. I’m going to give you something now to take the edge off that pain and help you rest.”

“Hang on, Dr. Phillips!” a female voice sounded suddenly, and a stern-looking woman with grey hair appeared in Dick’s line of sight. “I haven’t spoken with the boy yet.”

The doctor frowned. “Ms. Elliot, Richard is in no condition to answer any more questions. He needs to rest.”

“I understand the boy isn’t well, Doctor, but this won’t take long. And I’m not going to stress him out or–”

“The very nature of your questions will stress him out,” he cut across her. “The answer is no.”

The woman scowled. “Dr. Phillips, this is a serious case of child abuse and I need to speak with Richard for his own safety.”

Dick stared at her. Child abuse? What was she talking about? 

“Ms. Elliot, can we take this discussion outside?” asked the doctor, warning in his tone.

Fear wrapped its cold hands around Dick and squeezed. Something was wrong. There was a reason Bruce wasn’t here. Bruce was _always_ here when he was hurt and Dick should know better than to think otherwise. 

He pulled on the doctor’s sleeve to get his attention and the man looked down at him. “Yes, Richard?”

“Wwww…www…wers…Bruss?” 

“Mr. Wayne isn’t here right now,” the doctor told him. It was the third time he hadn’t really answered that question. “You just rest and he should be here later.”

“Mr. Wayne most certainly will not be here later!” the woman snapped. “That man is coming nowhere near this boy until I’ve determined whether or not he’s abusing him.”

“ _Ms. Elliot!_ ” Dr. Phillips hissed. 

Dick stared at the woman. Bruce wasn’t hurting him! Why would she think that? Was she the reason Bruce wasn’t here? He needed to tell her she was wrong. “Nnnn…nnn…nn-no…” he began, trying to form the right words.

“What’s that, dear?” said the woman in a soft voice, leaning closer to him. “Do you want to tell me something?”

“Ms. Elliot, stop this,” Dr. Phillips interjected, looking angry now.

“The boy spoke to me, Doctor, he obviously has something to say.”

Yes, Dick did have something to say. The problem was actually _saying_ it. “Brusss…hrrrrrrrr…” Dick stopped. That sounded way wrong. “Bruss…nnnnn…”

“Don’t be scared, Richard,” she said kindly, patting his hand. “You’re quite safe here.”

But Dick was safe with Bruce and this lady was making a mistake! “Rrrrrr…rrrrr…rong,” he told her. 

“Richard, I promise you, you’re safe here.”

“Nnnnn…nnnnn…nnnnn…nnnnn…” Dick wanted to cry with frustration. His panic was making it harder for him to get _any_ words out.

“Mr. Wayne can’t hurt you anymore, Richard,” said the woman gently. 

Dick made a strangled noise. “Nnnn…nnnn…” he gasped desperately. “Brsss…nnn…nnn...”

“That’s enough!” Dr. Phillips looked furious now. “Ms. Elliot, as this boy’s doctor, I am ordering you to leave.”

The woman sighed. “Very well, Dr. Phillips. But please contact me as soon as Richard is able to speak. I need an actual interview for court.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, voice clipped.

“Goodbye, Doctor, and thank you for your help. Richard, I’ll see you soon,” she added, patting Dick’s hand kindly before leaving the room.

Dick turned his attention to the doctor at once, trying desperately to make him understand. “Bruss…” he said imploringly.

The doctor looked regretful. “I’m afraid Mr. Wayne’s been forbidden by social services from having any contact with you.”

Dick felt like he might cry. His head was utter agony and he wanted Bruce so badly it hurt. “Pppp…pppp…ppp…ppplssss?” he begged. “Bruss…nnn…nnn…nnnnn…” Dick swallowed and tried again. “Nnnnn…nnnn…n-not…hrrrrrr…hrrrrrrt…” 

The man shook his head, his expression full of sympathy. “Richard, I’m sorry, but I can’t let him see you. It would get both myself and Mr. Wayne into a great deal of trouble. Don’t worry, as soon as your speech returns, you’ll be able to tell social services that they’re wrong and then everything will be okay.”

Dick stared at him miserably. But it wasn’t okay _now_. Pain was scissoring across his skull, his arm ached horribly and he just wanted Bruce. To his utter horror, he could feel his lower lip start to quiver and quickly squeezed his eyes shut.

Dr. Phillips sighed. “Let me give you something for the pain, okay?” he said in a soft voice. “You might feel better after a little rest.”

Dick didn’t bother to respond. So long as he was being kept apart from Bruce, nothing would feel okay.

oOo

Batman slipped into Dick’s hospital room sometime after two. He had deliberately left it until that time in the hopes that the nurses would be checking on the boy less. He had tried calling the hospital several times for word on Dick’s condition, but each time the hospital had refused to give him any information. Leslie too had been unable to gain access to Dick’s room or his medical notes, even though she was his paediatrician. CPS had the hospital running scared. It was frightening and nerve-wracking to be kept in the dark about something so important.

A small nightlight had been left on. As Batman approached Dick’s bed he could see that the boy’s eyes were closed and he was still in the same position as the night before. His heart sank; was Dick still unconscious?

He stopped beside the bed and stared down at Dick. The boy seemed younger than usual. The damn hospital gown was part of that, but Batman supposed it was also because he had grown so much as Robin and spent so much time surrounded by older teenagers that it was easy to forget he was only thirteen. Thirteen and completely vulnerable to the vultures circling him. Batman had been dismayed by the massive media presence outside the hospital. It even overshadowed the one camped outside Wayne Manor.

Sighing heavily, he reached down and brushed his fingers across Dick’s cheek, starting when the boy opened his eyes. “Dick?” he whispered disbelievingly.

Dick’s eyes widened. “Brssss?” 

“Shhhhh,” Batman hissed, glancing towards the door where, thanks to Kevin Green, he knew a security guard had been stationed.

“Bruss,” said Dick again, his right hand reaching for Batman’s arm.

“Dick, shhhhh.” Batman kept his ears peeled for the sound of the door opening while he bent over the boy.

Dick grabbed at him desperately. “Brussss,” he practically whined.

Batman was surprised at his actions: the boy was clutching at him like he was a lifeline. “Hush, Dick,” he said in low voice, glancing towards the door again. When he looked back at Dick, Batman was stunned to see that he was near tears; his lower lip was trembling and his eyes were watery. “Bruss?” he whispered plaintively.

Batman was taken aback when he realized that Dick wanted his guardian, not his mentor. It was a distinction the boy had never made between the two before. Taking a huge chance, he pulled back the cowl. Almost immediately, relief flooded Dick’s face and a tear slipped down each of his cheeks. “Brusss,” he breathed.

“It’s alright, kiddo,” said Bruce softly. “I’m here.” He ghosted his fingers across the boy’s hair before wiping away the tears. Dick sighed. 

“Better?” Bruce asked, keeping his voice low.

His eyes closing and opening in one long, slow blink, Dick gave the minutest of head nods. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Hrrrrrrr-ts,” Dick slurred. 

“What hurts?”

Dick pointed awkwardly to his head and broken arm. 

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

He gave a scarcely perceptible head shake and Bruce frowned. Something was off, Dick was using only the bare bones of communication. “What’s wrong?”

“Tttttt…tttt…ttt-t-lk…hrrrrr…hrrrrrr-d,” he whispered with obvious difficulty. 

Oh god. Bruce felt the world tilt. Dick’s speech had been affected, probably some form of aphasia. He swallowed. “But you understand me okay?”

Again, Dick gave a tiny head nod, his expression miserable.

“Oh, Dickie.” Bruce stroked his hair, heart aching at the thought of Dick waking up in pain and unable to speak, without a familiar face in sight. “It’s okay, kiddo. I know it’s scary, but these things can be cured. Sometimes they even fix themselves.” He prayed that Dick would be in the latter category.

He glanced quickly towards the door again before returning his attention to the boy. How was he going to tell him what had happened with CPS? “Dick, I know you’re probably wondering why I wasn’t here today…” 

To his surprise, the boy gave a small head shake. 

“You’re not?”

“Sssss…sssssss…ssssssooshall…sssss…sssss…sssssrrrrrvvvv…”

Social services. Bruce scowled. What idiot had come in here and told him about that when he was barely conscious? 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I’m afraid so. They did some X-rays on you that showed your old injuries. I was blindsided and couldn’t account for them all, so they’re investigating if it’s because I’ve been abusing you.”

He didn’t mention how much harder it would be to prove that he wasn’t hurting Dick now that the boy couldn’t speak. 

“It means I can’t be here during the day,” Bruce continued. “But I’m going to come and visit you every night so you’re still going to see me, okay?”

“…k…”

“And once we prove to social services that I’m not hurting you, everything will go back to normal. You just need to hang tight for a few days until I do that.”

Dick gave a slow nod, but his expression was sad. Bruce knew how miserable he was feeling because he was feeling the exact same way. 

Voices sounded suddenly at the door and Bruce’s head jerked up. Putting a finger to his lips to warn Dick of what was happening, he moved quickly over to the window and slipped through it, leaving it open a crack so he could hear what was happening. 

The door opened. Light footsteps entered the room and came towards the bed. “Oh, you’re awake!” said a soft female voice. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Hrrrrrr-ts,” he heard Dick respond.

“I know, sweetie. I’m going to give you something for that now.” Footsteps went back and forth, followed by rustling before the woman spoke again. “There. That should kick in soon. Can I get you anything else?”

“Wwwww…www-want…Bruss…”

“Oh, honey, I know you do.” 

The woman’s voice was full of sympathy and Bruce felt a pang when he realized that Dick must have looked for him several times already. It was followed immediately by a burst of pride that Dick, even in his current condition, was remembering to keep up the pretence of looking for his guardian. 

“I can’t get Mr. Wayne for you, but do you want anything else?” the nurse asked Dick.

He guessed Dick had shaken his head in the negative because the woman sighed. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you, okay?”

Footsteps sounded again and then came the soft click of a door closing. Bruce slipped quietly back into the room, guessing he only had minutes before whatever drug the nurse had given Dick took effect.

Sure enough, the boy’s eyes were already drooping heavily. “Brrsss?” Dick slurred.

“Right here, kiddo. I want you to close your eyes and get some sleep, okay? The more rest you get, the quicker you’ll heal.”

Dick gave him a slow smile while his right hand fumbled towards Bruce. Guessing what he was looking for, Bruce curled his fingers around the boy’s smaller ones. Dick gave a small sigh and closed his eyes. Bruce watched him until the deep rhythm of his breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep.

Bruce ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, anger raging within him. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to sneak around just to see his own child! Especially not when the boy needed him this badly. Unfortunately, the name Bruce Wayne meant he was guilty until proven innocent. So while Gotham CPS and the media ran this witch hunt against him, Dick – the very child with whose welfare they were _so_ concerned – was the one left to suffer. 

Bruce didn’t know how they were going to win this fight, but one thing was certain…

Losing wasn’t an option.


	6. Chapter 6

Dick gritted his teeth as he stared at the TV, where a clip of Bruce being hounded by reporters was airing, practically on a loop. It seemed as though every single news station was covering the story of how Bruce Wayne was a child abuser and it made Dick want to throw something. They had all condemned his guardian without anything being proven, and he couldn’t even speak to defend Bruce and tell them they were wrong.

It took several minutes of fumbling with the remote before he found the strength to turn off the TV. It was unnerving how weak he felt, unable to sit up without support, or lift his arm for more than a few seconds without exhausting himself. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so drained. And then there was his speech… 

Dick didn’t understand it. His mind was functioning with perfect clarity, he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to say, but it was like something kept getting jumbled between his brain and his mouth. And it was horribly isolating not being able to speak properly; most of the staff didn’t really talk to him once they knew he couldn’t respond.

Dick sighed miserably and fiddled with his bedcovers. He missed Bruce and Alfred. It was lonely here in the hospital, and while Bruce had promised to call during the night, Dick still had nothing to fill the long hours of daylight. He was too weak to get up and his head hurt too much to read or watch TV for more than a few minutes.

Dick was bored. And scared. What if his speech didn’t return? What if he couldn’t prove that Bruce wasn’t abusing him? What if he did get his speech back and no one believed him? Would the courts split them up forever? Dick couldn’t bear to think of that happening.

His door opened and a doctor entered, smiling as he closed the door behind him. Dick sighed wearily. Another one. He was sick of doctors, there had been a constant stream of them throughout the day. They’d poked him, prodded him, taken him for a whole battery of tests including two CT scans, and not one of them had bothered to explain why. Even more baffling than the plethora of tests was the constant monitoring of his urine output because what the heck did _that_ have to do with anything? Dick was frustrated and irritated; he couldn’t ask what was happening and no one seemed to care enough to explain it to him. Well, Dr. Phillips did, but he hadn’t been back to see Dick since last night. 

So it was something of a surprise when this doctor approached his bed and actually addressed Dick directly. “Hello, Richard. How are you feeling this evening?”

Dick shrugged his good shoulder. He felt like crap, what else was there to say?

The doctor leaned forward and his glasses slid down his nose a little. “Is something the matter, Richard?”

Dick tilted his head. The doctor was talking to him as though he expected him to respond. But surely he knew Dick was having trouble speaking?

The doctor frowned. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”

Okay. This was weird. He didn’t know Dick was having trouble with his speech. But every person who had entered his room today was aware of that, so why wasn’t this man? Dick stared at him uncertainly.

The man leaned over him and put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, Richard? Can’t you hear me?”

Something definitely wasn’t right here. Not only did this guy not have a clue about his speech, but Dick had never had a doctor make contact without sanitizing their hands before. If this guy was ignoring the most basic of medical practices, then there was a good chance he wasn’t actually a doctor.

And then he saw the portable camera clipped to the man’s tie.

Dick’s eyes widened. A reporter! This guy was here to get dirt on Bruce! He reached for the call button with his good hand, but the man caught his wrist and held it against the bed.

“Relax, Richard,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

Yeah, well, Dick didn’t want to talk to him. He opened his mouth to yell – just because he couldn’t speak didn’t mean he couldn’t make noise – but the man quickly clamped his other hand over his mouth. Dick twisted his head to left and right, trying to shake the man’s hand off, and was unable to stop himself from crying out when the motion made his head throb. 

The muffled sounds of distress made the man frown. “Relax, kid, will ya? I said I won’t hurt you. I just want a few words, that’s all.”

No! No words. Dick knew how this worked. Even if he could speak, this man would take everything he said and twist it out of context. He tried to pull his wrist out of the reporter’s grip and rolled his head from side to side. He knew the man wasn’t going to hurt him but he couldn’t help panicking a little. This was getting out of control and he was unable to defend himself. It was frightening to be so helpless.

“What the hell is going on in here?” a female voice cried suddenly. 

The reporter jerked back, his hands letting go of Dick. Panting, Dick used his good hand to rip the portable camera from the man’s tie and send it clattering to the ground. 

“Is that a camera?” the female voice demanded, and Dick looked up to see a tall, dark-haired woman in a white coat squinting at the floor. “Good Lord! SECURITY!” 

An enormous man in a dark uniform burst into the room, startling Dick with his quick response. His eyes narrowed in on the reporter who was now backing away from Dick’s bed, his hands held up in defence. “I wasn’t going to hurt the kid, I swear! I just wanted to get a few quotes.”

The security guard moved towards him just as several nurses entered, drawn by the noise. One of them, a cute blond whom Dick recognized as his nurse from the night before, headed straight for him. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” she asked, anxiously examining him before checking his monitors and IV-line.

A little shaken, Dick nodded, his eyes glued to the reporter who was being escorted out of the room. The dark-haired woman who had interrupted the reporter was issuing orders to the other nurses gathered in the doorway. “…police and get more security up here! And make sure to tell them to check the ID of every person before they enter this room.”

The other nurses scuttled away to carry out her orders and the woman approached Dick’s bed. She looked angry. “Despicable piece of trash,” she muttered furiously, before addressing Dick in a softer tone, “Did he hurt you?”

Dick shook his head, wincing when it ached.

“Does your head hurt?” asked the dark-haired woman.

Dick gave the smallest of head nods in response. Yes was still beyond the few halting words he was able to manage.

“He’s not due any pain medication for at least another hour,” the blond nurse put in. 

“Then find the attending and see if you can give him something now. Don’t let the pain build after the shock he’s just had.”

The blond nurse nodded and left.

The dark-haired woman turned back to Dick. “I can’t authorize anything for your pain,” she explained. “I’m not a doctor on this ward. My name is Dr. Lewis and I work in the ER.”

Dick gave a small wave of his hand in greeting, unsure as to why an ER doctor would be visiting him. 

She frowned. “Dr. Phillips told me about your speech problems. I take it there’s been no improvement since yesterday?”

Dick shook his head miserably.

Dr. Lewis sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that, Dick. I know this must be scary for you.”

Dick stared at her. She was the first person here to call him Dick instead of Richard. Who was this woman? He frowned and pointed at her. “Hhh…hhh…hh…hooooo…?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Of course you don’t know me. I was the doctor who treated you when you were brought into the ER. I just wanted to check on how you were doing.”

Dick raised an eyebrow because _why?_

She smiled. “I always like to check on my young patients. And I know you aren’t allowed any visitors so I thought you might like some company.”

No visitors. He scowled. That was a nice way of saying he wasn’t allowed to see his family. “Wwwww…wwww…w-want…Bruss.” Maybe if he said it enough, someone would actually listen.

Dr. Lewis looked taken aback. “Dick, you do know your guardian isn’t allowed to see you?”

“Wwww…wwww…w-want…Bruss,” he insisted. 

The doctor frowned. “Dick, why would you want to see someone who hurts you?”

Dick jerked upright in fury. “Nnnnn…nnnn…nn-not…hrrrrrrrr…hrrrrr-t…mmmm…m-me!”

The doctor gently guided him back against the pillows. “Dick, you don’t have to defend him. No one is going to hurt you for telling the truth and CPS can keep you safe from Bruce Wayne.”

Dick wanted to howl. “Bruss…nnnnn…nnn-not…hrrrrrrr…hrrrr-t…mmmm…m-me.”

Dr. Lewis looked troubled. “There’s a lot of evidence against him. Your arm for instance.” She gestured to Dick’s broken arm.

“Aaaaaa…aaaaa…aaaaa…aaaaaa…aaaaaa…aaaaaaaaa…” Dick stopped, frustrated. He and Bruce had come up with a story for his arm, but how could he use it if he couldn’t even say the word accident?

“Accident?” Dr. Lewis guessed and Dick nodded vigorously, wincing when it made his head swim. “Are you saying that what happened to your arm was an accident?”

Dick gave a smaller head nod. “Ffff…fffff…fffff…fffffffff…” He clenched his good hand. Seriously? He couldn’t even say the word fall? This beyond sucked. 

“I see.” Dr. Lewis looked even more troubled. “You had a lot of other injuries, Dick. Were those all accidents too?”

He felt like screaming. How was he supposed to answer that when he couldn’t speak? “Nnnnnn…nnn-not…Bruss.” He looked at her pleadingly, trying to make her understand. “Bruss…nnnnn…nnn-not…hrrrrr-t…mmmmm…m-me.” 

The doctor sighed again and massaged her temple. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Many children whose parents abuse them claim that they don’t.”

“Bruss…nnnn…nnnn…nn-not…hrrrrrr-t…mmmm-me!” Dick insisted.

“Well, you’ll be questioned by social services once your speech returns, so I guess it all depends on how well your stories match.”

She sounded like she wasn’t entirely sure what to believe. And then it hit Dick. If she was the one who had treated him in the ER, she was probably the one who had called social services! “Uuuuuuu…kk…kk…kk…kkkkkk…” Dick gave up and mimed using a phone. “Sssss…sssss…sssssssss…sssssssssssss…” 

Oh, come on! He had said the stupid word last night!

“Yes,” the doctor cut in gently. “I was the one who called child protective services.”

“Wwwww…wwww…wwwww…wwwwwww…” He looked at her desperately. _Why?_

She seemed to understand. “I thought you were in danger. And I’m legally obliged to report if I suspect a child is being abused. I was just doing my job, Dick.”

Doing her job. Dick turned his head away. He was in this situation because someone was doing their _job?_

“I’m not going to apologize,” Dr. Lewis said quietly. “I thought I was doing the right thing. And I’m still not convinced of Mr. Wayne’s innocence.”

Dick turned back to her. “Nnnnnnnn…nnn-not…hrrrrrrrr…hrrrrrr-t…mmmm…m-me!” he yelled. His heart wrenched and he thumped the mattress with his fist. He couldn’t even defend Bruce! He was useless! Totally useless!

“Calm down, Dick,” the doctor soothed. “It’s not good for you to get overexcited at the moment.”

Like she cared. Dick glared at her.

The doctor sighed. “I understand why you’re mad at me, Dick, but I stand by my actions. And if Mr. Wayne really is innocent then you can explain that once your speech returns.”

Dick gave a snort of derision because she was making a big assumption: what if his speech didn’t return? 

The doctor gave him a peculiar look. “Dick, your speech will return. You do know that, don’t you?”

Dick rolled his eyes because actually, no, he didn’t.

“I’m serious, Dick. Your speech should come back once the swelling in that region of the brain has completely dissipated. Spontanous recovery is pretty common with head injuries like yours.” 

Dick looked at her hopefully. _Really?_

She frowned. “Hasn’t anyone explained this to you?”

He shook his head and her eyes widened. “Has anybody told you _anything?_ ”

He shook his head again. 

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” she muttered, shaking her own head. “Dick, I really shouldn’t tell you anything because I’m not your doctor, but I’m going to give you a quick rundown so you’ll at least have some idea of what’s happening to you. And I’ll talk to the doctors here about communicating with you, okay?”

Dick nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude towards Dr. Lewis…even if she was the reason he was being kept away from Bruce.

“You were brought in after suffering a head injury,” she began. “You hit your head hard enough for the brain to swell and it caused something called increased intracranial pressure, or ICP. It basically means the swelling caused pressure to build inside your cranium and that’s dangerous because it can prevent blood from getting to the brain. Do you understand?”

Dick nodded.

“You were treated with drugs to reduce the swelling and the raised ICP, and you responded well so we didn’t need to perform any invasive surgical procedures. But one of the drugs used to treat increased ICP, Mannitol, can cause renal failure. You were given several large doses to help reduce the pressure, but it means you need to be monitored closely over the next few days to ensure that you don’t develop any kidney problems.”

So that’s why they were doing that! Dick sighed in wide-eyed relief. He hadn’t known what to think of that. It was nice to be getting answers. Which reminded him… He gestured to his throat.

“Your speech?” asked Dr. Lewis, and he nodded. “It’s called expressive aphasia. It means that you can understand speech but you can’t use it because there’s swelling in the area of your brain responsible for language. Fortunately, the swelling has started to reduce and Dr. Phillips doesn’t think there’s been any long-term damage, which means the probability of your speech returning once the swelling goes down is high. There is a very small chance that you will need some speech therapy, but it’s minimal. However, Dr. Phillips is the neurologist so I’ll let him explain the mechanics of it when he comes back on shift, okay?”

Dick nodded, glad to have some idea of what was happening to him and relieved to know this speech thing wouldn’t be permanent. 

“Is there anything else?” she enquired.

Dick gestured to his broken arm, grasping his splint to indicate he wanted to know about that; the cast hadn’t been very comfortable, but it was a heck of a lot better than the splint, which poked him in the side every time he moved and didn’t give a whole lot of support to his arm.

Dr. Lewis blinked. “You want to know about the splint?” He nodded. “I’m afraid I haven’t spoken with your orthopaedist to give you any definite answers, but I can tell you that you don’t have any new breaks to your arm. Regarding the splint, we had to put that on because your fall shattered the cast and we had to remove it in the ER. It cut your arm pretty badly in a few places and you needed stitches, so there’s a lot of swelling. You probably need to wait for that to go down before it can be casted it again.”

More stitches. Wonderful. Dick sighed, wondering how much time all of this had added to his recovery period.

“Do you need to know anything else? Or can I get you anything?” Dr. Lewis asked.

Dick shook his head, then looked at her and smiled in gratitude. Alfred wouldn’t be pleased if he forgot his manners. The thought of Alfred caused a sharp pang of homesickness that made his heart ache. 

She smiled back. “You’re welcome. And I promise I’ll–”

“Dr. Lewis, hero of the hour, I believe,” a male voice interrupted, and they both looked up as Dr. Phillips entered the room. 

Dr. Lewis gave a wry smile. “Hardly. Only a coward would sneak into a child’s hospital room to forcefully question him.”

Dick scowled. He wasn’t a child!

“I won’t dispute that,” said Dr. Phillips, frowning and shaking his head. “Despicable behaviour.”

“Security needs to start checking the ID of the people entering this room,” Dr. Lewis lectured. “They can’t just let people in because they’re in uniform or wearing a white coat! The whole reason someone was put on Dick’s door was to prevent things like this.”

Wait, what? Dick looked between them both. He had security? Why? Had something already happened or was it just to keep Bruce out? He scowled again at that last thought.

But the doctors didn’t elaborate. Instead, Dr. Phillips raised his hand in a gesture of appeasement towards Dr. Lewis. “It’s already been taken care of. I came on shift just as that man was being escorted off the ward, so I’ve already had a word with security. And we’re going to leave this door open to ensure nothing like this happens again, alright, Richard?” 

He gave Dick a kind smile but Dick was too stricken to respond. If they left the door open then Batman wouldn’t be able to slip in at night! He shook his head in dismay, unable to admit that to them. 

“Wwww…ww-want…Bruss,” he whispered instead. He needed his guardian, why couldn’t they see that?

Dr. Phillips sighed. “Richard, I’m sorry, but you know I can’t let him see you.”

Dick slumped miserably against his pillows. This wasn’t fair. Any of it. All the times he’d been knocked on the head, and it was when he really needed his voice that he lost it. 

“Dr. Phillips,” Dr. Lewis spoke up, “could you have a word with your team about Dick? They haven’t been explaining things to him, and I’m fairly certain they haven’t been talking to him either. He can’t speak, but that doesn’t mean he can’t communicate. Don’t have him feeling more isolated than he already is.”

Dr. Phillips looked taken aback. “Is that true, Richard? Have my team not been communicating with you?”

Dick shook his head and the man sighed. “I’m sorry, Richard. I’ll speak with them. Sometimes doctors become so immune to the illness around us that we forget how new and frightening it is for the patient.”

“Well, since that’s settled, I’d better get back to the ER,” Dr. Lewis announced. She pointed at the floor where the reporter’s camera was still lying. “The police have been called, make sure they get their hands on that.” She turned back to Dick and gave him a smile. “Feel better soon, okay?”

He nodded, returning her smile. It would have been petty of him to continue being angry at her for doing her job after what she’d just done for him; rescuing him from the reporter, explaining what was happening to him, and making sure the hospital staff stopped ignoring him.

“Dr. Phillips,” she nodded to the man as she left the room.

Dr. Phillips nodded in return before turning to Dick and waggling his eyebrows. “A wonderful doctor, but not a lady I’d like to get on the wrong side of. Now, your nurse tells me you’re in a bit of pain and would like your pain medication a little early?”

Dick nodded.

“Well, I did want to do some more complex motor coordination response tests with you, but maybe that can wait until you’ve had a little nap? I think you’ve earned it after the evening you’ve had.” He smiled kindly at Dick and patted his arm. 

Dick shrugged in response. If only they realized that the best medication of all would be having Bruce here.

oOo

It was after midnight when Batman arrived at the hospital. Peering through the window of Dick’s room to check that Dick was its only occupant, he was surprised to see the boy sitting propped against his pillows, staring gloomily at the open door. Carefully, he pushed the window open a crack and gave a low whistle.

Dick looked up and his face split in a wide grin. Then his eyes suddenly widened and he gestured at Batman to hide.

“You need anything, Mr. Grayson?” asked a burly security guard, appearing in the doorway to Dick’s room.

Dick shook his head.

The guard frowned. “Sorry. Thought I heard you call or something.”

He stepped back into the hall and Dick turned to face Batman, his face a mask of despair.

 _“It’s alright,_ ” Batman used sign language to communicate with him, immensely glad it was one of the things he had taught Robin. _“How long until they close the door?”_

Dick shook his head miserably and Batman frowned. _“They’re not closing the door?”_

Dick shook his head again.

Batman was taken aback. The previous two nights he had visited Dick, the door had always been closed. _“Why not? Did something happen?”_

The boy nodded, his eyes going back to check on the guard.

Batman’s frown deepened as he thought about what could have happened. There was no point asking Dick because the boy couldn’t sign a response with only one working arm. And then a possible reason for why the door needed to be left open occurred to him and Batman bit back a growl. _“Dick, was there a reporter in your room today?”_

Sighing, Dick nodded.

Rage boiled in Batman’s veins. Goddamn vultures! What was wrong with them that they would harass an injured child in the hospital?! This was the second time someone had gotten into his room, even with a guard on the door! And while this would help strengthen the case for why he didn’t have Dick treated at Gotham General, it made it impossible for them to get their stories straight.

And they _needed_ to get their stories straight. CPS was moving fast: Bruce Wayne had already been summoned to a jurisdictional hearing the next morning, so it was only a matter of time before CPS questioned Dick – regardless of whether or not the boy could speak. 

Tonight, Batman had been hoping to confirm that Dick remembered the stories they had created for his old injuries, and to help him explain the ones they hadn’t accounted for…like his injuries at the hands of Two-Face. That had happened during summer vacation and they had been able to hide Dick in the manor for most of his recovery. Not to talk of the cigarette burns. There was no way those could be accidental. 

Batman tightened his mouth. There was too much to account for and everything hinged on Dick being able to convince CPS. But how was he supposed to do that if they couldn’t even get their stories straight? 

An unfamiliar feeling of helplessness weaved its way into Batman’s psyche as he stared at Dick through the glass. The odds of CPS removing Dick permanently from his care were increasing all the time, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.


	7. Chapter 7

“All rise, the honourable Judge Harcourt presiding,” the bailiff announced. “Court is now in session; all parties have been sworn in.”

There was a scraping of chairs as both parties got to their feet. Bruce watched as a tall, grim-faced man stepped onto the bench and sat down. He looked every bit as formidable as Kevin Green had warned he was. Bruce gripped the table and from beside him, Amanda Ryan patted his arm comfortingly. Unable to help himself, Bruce glanced back at Alfred, who was sitting behind him. The butler looked as on edge as he felt. Thank god this was a closed hearing.

“Be seated,” said Judge Harcourt gruffly, adjusting his glasses and peering at the file in front of him. “Case number GS-00-1010-JD-00569, in the matter of Richard Grayson. I understand the child has already been removed and CPS are petitioning for temporary custody?”

The prosecutor, Mr. Duncan – a sour-faced but excellent lawyer Bruce recognized from his work as Batman – stood up. “They are, Your Honour.”

“And Mr. Wayne is contesting this?”

Kevin stood up. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Very well. Prosecution, you may call your first witness.”

“Prosecution calls Dr. Jane Lewis to the stand.”

Bruce watched as the tall, dark-haired doctor he had spoken with in the ER took the stand. His nerves were strained so far he could hardly breathe.

“Dr. Lewis,” the prosecutor addressed her, coming out from behind the table, “you were the one who treated Richard Grayson when he was brought into the ER at Gotham General. Can you tell us what happened?”

The woman looked calm as she spoke. “Dick was brought in after falling down some stairs at school. He’d hit his head and was unconscious. He was also wearing a cast which had been broken in the fall and it was cutting into his arm so we had to remove it. It was when we removed the cast that I saw a large bruise in the shape of a handprint on his arm. My colleague noticed cigarette burns on the same arm. We were concerned, so I ordered a skeletal survey and a radionuclide bone scan along with the CT scan.”

“Can you explain what a skeletal survey and a radionuclide bone scan do, Doctor?”

“A skeletal survey is a series of X-rays of the whole body, while the bone scan uses a radioisotope to identify a hot spot at the site of a fracture – a hot spot is an area of bone that sucks up the most dye,” she explained. “It shows which direction the bone was fractured in.”

“And what did those X-rays find?” the prosecutor prompted. 

Here Dr. Lewis began to look troubled. “The bone scan confirmed that a twisting force had been used to cause the fracture in Dick’s arm, suggesting that someone had twisted his arm hard enough to break it and also dislocate his shoulder. The skeletal survey revealed angulation of the ribs at three different sites, indicating that they had been broken before. It also showed that Dick had fractured his right arm in the past, and there was evidence of an old skull fracture, as well as fractures to the index and middle fingers on his left hand.”

“Is that an unusual number of bone breaks for a thirteen-year-old?” asked the prosecutor.

She nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

“And as a doctor, what would that usually suggest to you?

“In the absence of a major accident or some form of bone disease, it usually indicates child abuse.”

“And is that what prompted you to call Child Protective Services?”

“Yes. That and some old scarring that I came across.”

“So Child Protective Services arrived and you explained your concerns to them. Then Mr. Wayne arrived at the hospital. What happened when child services confronted Mr. Wayne?”

“He couldn’t account for most of those injuries,” she answered, her gaze flicking towards Bruce. “But he admitted that he was responsible for Dick’s current injured arm. It was an accident apparently. They were caving when Dick fell and Mr. Wayne caught him before he dropped into a hole.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It seemed a little too…convenient. Especially since Dick’s teacher had already informed us that Dick told him he fell while on a camping trip with Mr. Wayne. And he didn’t seem to know anything about Dick’s shoulder being dislocated, only that his arm had been broken.”

“And how did Mr. Wayne react to these accusations of abuse?”

“He was surprised at first, but then he got angry.”

“Angry?” the prosecutor repeated.

“He implied that the hospital had performed the extra X-rays because of who he was.”

“And did you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Mr. Wayne is Gotham’s richest and most powerful citizen. He has a lot of influence in this town and I wanted to be sure that we were right about the abuse, both for the hospital’s sake and Dick’s.”

“Why would you need to be sure, Dr. Lewis?”

“So that Mr. Wayne couldn’t buy his way out of this and so that Dick wouldn’t be returned to him.”

Bruce clenched a fist in anger. He couldn’t control that his name and social standing brought him influence in this town, and implying that he would use that power for bribery wasn’t just insulting, it bordered on slander.

“Objection!” Kevin Green called. “Witness is insinuating things about Mr. Wayne’s character when she’s only met him once.” 

“Sustained.” The judge looked at Dr. Lewis. “Please refrain from making personal suppositions, Doctor.”

The woman blushed and nodded before the prosecutor continued. “What happened next?”

“Ms. Elliot of Child Protective Services informed Mr. Wayne that she was removing Dick from his care and forbid him from having any contact with Dick. After she left, he turned on me and demanded to know why I had done this. He told me he wasn’t abusing Dick.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that if he was innocent then what had he to be afraid of.”

“And how did he react to that?”

“He said the possibility of losing his son gave him plenty to be afraid of. He seemed to be genuinely afraid of losing Dick.”

“Did you think Mr. Wayne was afraid that he wouldn’t be found innocent?”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor turned to the judge. “No further questions.”

The judge looked towards Bruce and his lawyer. “Does the defense wish to cross-examine?”

Kevin stood up. “Yes, Your Honour.” He walked over to Dr. Lewis. “Dr. Lewis, when Mr. Wayne was first told about Richard’s condition, how did he react?”

“He seemed concerned.”

“How did he show that concern?”

“He asked questions about Dick’s condition and he became upset when I told him there was a possibility of long-term brain damage.”

“What do you mean he became upset?”

Dr. Lewis shifted in her seat. “He sort of…moaned and covered his eyes.”

“So he was genuinely worried about Richard?”

She frowned. “Yes.” 

“Dr. Lewis, you told the prosecutor that Mr. Wayne reacted with surprise and anger when presented with the accusation of child abuse, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re saying he reacted with outrage, like any man accused of a crime they didn’t commit?”

The prosecutor stood up. “Objection! Mr. Green is leading the witness.”

“Sustained. Redirect, councillor.”

Kevin nodded. “Dr. Lewis, you said Mr. Wayne was surprised to be accused of abusing Richard. Did the shock seem genuine?”

“Yes.” 

“You also said Mr. Wayne’s account as to how Richard broke his arm felt a little too convenient. Did you feel that way about his explanation for Richard’s other injuries?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They seemed rehearsed.”

“But if Mr. Wayne reacted with shock to the claims of child abuse then he couldn’t have been expecting those questions, so how could he have rehearsed those answers?”

She glanced towards the prosecutor. “I…don’t know.”

“Dr. Lewis, you’ve indicated that you believed Mr. Wayne was lying about Richard’s broken arm because Richard told his teacher he fell while on a camping trip, while Mr. Wayne told you that Richard fell during a caving expedition and broke his arm when Mr. Wayne grabbed him. But in the hospital, isn’t it true that Mr. Wayne _did_ tell you they were camping in Colorado that weekend?”

“Yes.”

“So he didn’t lie, Richard did fall while on a camping trip?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

Bruce felt hopeful. Kevin was doing a good job of insinuating that this was all one big misunderstanding.

Kevin stepped closer to the bench. “Just a few more questions, Doctor. Can you tell how old Richard’s fractures are from his X-rays?”

“Just the most recent fracture. The others happened sometime within the last few years, but it’s impossible to definitely establish exactly when they occurred.”

“Last few years. Could they have occurred four or five years ago?”

Her gaze became wary. “Yes.”

“Doctor, were you aware that Richard isn’t Mr. Wayne’s biological child? That Mr. Wayne adopted the boy when he was nine?”

“I know that now. I wasn’t aware of it when I treated him.”

“Then isn’t it possible that the injuries Mr. Wayne can’t account for happened _before_ Richard came into his care, like Mr. Wayne keeps saying?”

“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly.

Kevin walked away. “No further questions, Your Honour.”

The judge looked to the prosecutor. “Has prosecution finished with this witness?”

“We have, Your Honour.”

“Very well. You may step down, Doctor.”

She complied, and Bruce saw her throw an uncertain frown in his direction as she walked away.

“Prosecution, you may call your next witness,” the judge told them, studying something in front of him.

“Thank you, Your Honour. I call Margaret Elliot to the stand.”

Bruce felt something in his gut tighten as the woman approached the bench and flashed a small smile in the judge’s direction. The man gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. If the judge knew her, wouldn’t that prejudice him against them? He leaned towards his lawyers and whispered as much.

Amanda Ryan shook her head. “Margaret Elliot has been working with social services for almost twenty years. She knows most of the judges in this town. Looking for one she doesn’t know will only drag this out and make you seem petty. Don’t worry, Judge Harcourt is a hard-ass but fair. This won’t bias him against you.”

Not feeling altogether reassured, Bruce settled back in his chair and watched the prosecutor approach Margaret Elliot.

“Ms. Elliot,” he began, “how long have you been working for social services?”

“Over nineteen years.”

“And in that time, have you seen other cases like Richard’s?”

“Hundreds,” she replied.

“And of those cases, how many were not being abused by their parents?”

“A small percentage of them were due to illness that the parents were unaware of, or abuse occurring outside the home, but in nearly eighty-five percent of cases, the abuse was perpetrated by a parent, guardian or older sibling.”

“So you’re saying it occurred inside the home?”

“Objection!” Kevin Green stood up. “Your Honour, relevance to this case?”

“I’m merely trying to establish a precedence for how frequently physical abuse takes place within a home environment,” the prosecutor spoke up quickly.

The judge nodded. “I’ll allow it. Overruled.” 

Kevin sat back down and Bruce wanted to scream at them; statistics didn’t mean he was abusing his son! 

The prosecutor turned back to Margaret Elliot. “Ms. Elliot, are you saying that most cases of physical abuse occur within the home?”

“That’s been my experience. And statistics prove that almost nine tenths of child physical abuse is perpetrated by a parent or guardian.”

“Let’s talk about Richard. In your experience, are his injuries consistent with child abuse?”

“Yes. That many fractures on a child his age without a viable explanation is always suspicious, not to mention that the rib fractures can’t be explained by a simple fall. Rib fractures are less common in children because their ribs are more elastic. It takes considerable force to break a child’s ribs.”

Bruce clenched his fist as an image of Robin being battered with a baseball bat flashed through his mind; Two-Face had used considerable force alright. He would never as long as he lived forget that night.

“Considerable force. What do you mean by that, Ms. Elliot?” the prosecutor asked.

“Objection!” Kevin called. “Witness is not a doctor and therefore not an expert in the area of broken bones.”

“Ms. Elliot has been working with abused children for over nineteen years,” the prosecutor argued. “She’s seen enough broken ribs to have some knowledge of the force required.”

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Harcourt said. “Continue.”

The prosecutor turned back to Margaret Elliot. “Ms. Elliot, can you clarify what you mean by considerable force?”

“Force equivalent to that of a vehicular collision or a severe beating.”

“So a lot of force. Did any of Richard’s other injuries seem suspicious to you?”

“He has what look like cigarette burns on the inside of his left arm. And while Mr. Wayne can claim horse-riding accidents and trapeze accidents all he likes for the fractures, there isn’t a thing in the world that can explain cigarette burns on the arm of a child. Richard isn’t safe in that home.”

“So you’re worried about Richard?”

“Of course! Four children a day die in this country as a result of child abuse, and that’s only the ones that we know of. I don’t want to see Richard become another one of those statistics when we can prevent it.”

“And what about Richard? You’ve spoken to the boy, Ms. Elliot. Do you think he wants to be removed from Mr. Wayne’s custody?”

“I’ve spoken to the boy, but he hasn’t spoken to me,” she corrected. “Richard’s head injury has resulted in a loss of speech that means he can only manage a few words.”

“But he did speak a few words to you?”

“Very few. And they were garbled.”

“Did you get an impression of what he was trying to say?”

“Yes. I believe Richard is scared of his guardian and was trying to tell me as much.”

“That’s a lie!” Bruce burst out, furious. 

“Mr. Wayne,” Judge Harcourt cautioned.

Bruce turned to Kevin and hissed, “What are you doing? Why aren’t you objecting?!”

“Because if I object and the judge agrees, _I_ won’t be able to continue with this line of questioning,” Kevin whispered back.

“Why would you want to?” Bruce demanded in a low voice.

“I have a reason, Mr. Wayne.”

“Councillors?” The judge was still looking at them. “Do you have an objection to make?”

“No, Your Honour,” replied Kevin.

“Very well. Mr. Duncan, you may continue.”

“Thank you. Ms. Elliot, what specifically makes you think that Richard was trying to tell you he was scared of his guardian?”

“Because after I told Richard he was safe in the hospital, he became agitated and said something that sounded like the word wrong. When I insisted he was safe, he said the word no, followed by his guardian’s name. I believe he was trying to tell me that he wasn’t safe.”

“You’re lying!” Bruce spat through gritted teeth. “Dick would never say that!”

“Mr. Wayne, remain silent or I will find you in contempt of court,” the judge warned.

Bruce gave Kevin and Amanda a look of pure fury. Why were they just letting this _happen?_

Kevin held his hand up in a calming gesture, mouthing, “trust me”. His smile infuriated Bruce because if his arrogance cost him Dick, so help him he would fire the man and sue him for malpractice! From behind him, Alfred leaned forward and put a calming hand on his shoulder. Reluctantly, Bruce settled back in his chair.

“Ms. Elliot,” the prosecutor continued, “do you believe Richard is being abused by his guardian?”

“Yes.”

“No more questions,” the prosecutor said, and turned to Kevin Green. “Your witness.”

Kevin Green stood up. “Nineteen years, Ms. Elliot. You’ve been working at Child Protective Services for a long time. Impressive considering how high the burnout rate is in your profession; most social service workers last five years or less. What do you think makes you different to those others?”

“I’m determined,” she replied. “I won’t stand by and allow children to be abused when I can do something to stop it. That’s why I’m still in this job; I do it for the children.”

“Admirable sentiments,” Kevin conceded. “Ms. Elliot, have you seen a lot of bad things over the last nineteen years?”

“The worst. Things most people can’t even imagine.”

“Are things like that hard to forget?” 

“Yes.”

“And does that mean you remember every child that you’ve rescued?”

“Objection, Your Honour,” the prosecutor called. “The point of this line of questioning?”

“I do have a point to make,” Kevin interjected.

“Then make it,” said the judge in exasperation.

Kevin turned back to the woman. “Ms. Elliot, after nineteen years and all the things that you’ve seen, isn’t it possible that you may be a little prejudiced towards a suspected abuser in cases like these?”

She scowled. “Prejudice has nothing to do with the fact that Richard Grayson has a bruise in the shape of a handprint on his left arm – an arm that was broken _and_ has a dislocated shoulder!”

“And which Mr. Wayne has accounted for,” he reminded her.

“But he hasn’t accounted for the skull fracture, two of the broken ribs or the cigarette burns on the boy’s arm.” 

“Mr. Wayne has said he can’t account for those injuries because they didn’t happen while Richard was in his care, that they must have happened before,” Kevin pointed out. “And Richard _was_ a trapeze artist in a circus. A dangerous profession where it would be very easy to suffer a serious injury, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I would say it’s convenient for Mr. Wayne to be able to blame the circus.”

“Convenient.” Kevin shook his head. “That’s the same word Dr. Lewis used. Yet none of this is even close to convenient for Mr. Wayne. Why would a man who abuses his son fight this hard to keep him?”

“I can’t speak as to Mr. Wayne’s motivations, but I would guess that being found guilty of child abuse would hurt his reputation and perhaps he doesn’t want his social standing in Gotham to diminish.”

Kevin shook his head. “Both you and Dr. Lewis have alluded to Mr. Wayne’s social position when it has nothing to do with this case. How is that not prejudice?”

“I’m not prejudiced against Mr. Wayne’s social position. I generally work in Gotham’s worst areas, and I’ve seen firsthand the good his charitable foundation does. I’ve always admired him until this.”

“That sounds like you bear a certain bias against him now.”

“Because I believe he’s been abusing a child.”

“So you do admit to being prejudiced against him?”

She looked frustrated. “I said I believe he’s been abusing Richard. That doesn’t equal prejudice.”

“But it does, Ms. Elliot. You’ve been inferring things about Mr. Wayne from a few slurred words an injured boy is able to stutter. You inferred that Richard was saying ‘you’re wrong’ when you told him he was safe, when in fact he could have been telling you that you were wrong about Mr. Wayne.”

“No one would have believed that’s what he was saying.”

“Ah, but you see that’s just it, someone else did believe that.” Kevin turned and walked back to the table, pulling several pieces of paper from the top of the pile he had with him. “Your Honour, I would like to admit exhibit A into evidence.” He placed one page on the prosecutor’s desk and approached the bench with the second, which he handed to the judge. “This is the statement of Dr. William Phillips, Richard’s neurologist, which states that not only did Richard become very distressed when he was told he couldn’t see his guardian, but also that he has been asking for Mr. Wayne almost non-stop since he regained consciousness. According to Dr. Phillips, it’s the one thing Richard has been able to say clearly.” 

Bruce turned to Amanda Ryan in expectant shock.

“The doctor only contacted Kevin just before we left for court,” she explained in a low voice. “We didn’t have time to tell you _and_ get his statement.”

Judge Harcourt was carefully reading the statement. Finally he looked up. “Is Dr. Phillips willing to testify to this?” 

Kevin nodded. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“I’ll admit it.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.” Kevin approached the stand and handed the last piece of paper to Margaret Elliot. “Ms. Elliot, I would like you to read this. It is Dr. Phillip’s account of what happened after Richard regained consciousness. In it, Dr. Phillips states that he believes when Richard was saying the word no, he was trying to disagree with you about Mr. Wayne hurting him. He also believes that when Richard stuttered the word wrong, he was trying to tell you that _you_ were wrong.”

Bruce watched as Margaret Elliot began to read the statement. He felt bad for having doubted Kevin; the man had been his lawyer for years, of course he wasn’t going to let him down.

Several minutes later, the social worker handed back the statement to Kevin without saying a word. 

“Ms. Elliot, what do you make of the fact that Richard has been looking for his guardian almost non-stop since he regained consciousness?” Kevin asked. “Is it your experience that abused children would look to have their abuser with them?”

“In some cases, yes. I’ve seen children look for a parent who’s abused them because they’re scared and want someone familiar. The unknown can be far more frightening to a child than any abuse they may be suffering. At least they know their abuser, and what to expect from them. Richard is in hospital and has just lost his speech. I imagine he’s very scared right now and Mr. Wayne is a familiar figure.”

“Richard isn’t a small child who doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’s a very bright thirteen-year-old who knows exactly what’s happening. Are you really suggesting that he would look for someone who’s been hurting him that badly because he’s scared of what _might_ happen?”

She flushed. “Yes.”

Kevin turned back to the judge. “No more questions, Your Honour.”

“Ms. Elliot, you may step down,” Judge Harcourt instructed. “Prosecution, do you have any further witnesses?”

“Not at this time, Your Honour.”

“Very well. Defense, you may call your first witness.”

Kevin Green stood up. “Defense calls Dr. Leslie Thompkins.”

Bruce watched with baited breath as Leslie approached the stand. Both Kevin and Amanda had warned him that she could be easily discredited, but he didn’t have anyone else he could call that would be considered a viable witness. Alfred was his butler who had cared for him since he was a child, and Martian Manhunter was off-world on a League mission; Bruce hadn’t been able to contact him after he’d received the summons yesterday in order to get the alien back to earth to play the part of the imaginary caving expedition guide, Oliver Benson. It had forced Bruce to pretend to Kevin that Oliver wasn’t able to make it from Colorado on time, but that he would be there if this went to trial. 

Which Bruce hoped it wouldn’t. It had only been a few days, but he missed Dick terribly. He couldn’t even take the stand in his own defence as Kevin had advised against it. The court already had Bruce’s statement, and if he took the stand without Dick’s testimony to show corroboration between both testimonies, it would only present the prosecutor with an opportunity to attack his character by using his playboy image. Bruce suspected Kevin was also concerned that he might lose his temper with the prosecutor and portray himself in an unflattering light – something Bruce couldn’t exactly deny was a possibility; he had been exceptionally snappish and irritable since this whole thing had started. 

Kevin approached Leslie. “Dr. Thompkins, how long have you been Richard’s doctor?

“Almost five years now, ever since Mr. Wayne adopted him.”

“And how regularly do you see Richard?”

“Several times a year for checkups, vaccines and the usual childhood illnesses, as well as for some of the injuries being investigated by social services.”

“Can you tell us about those injuries?”

“The first time was for a broken arm and a broken rib when Dick was ten. Mr. Wayne had taken him horse-riding and the horse spooked, throwing him off. I remember that pretty well because Dick was rather indignant that the horse had spooked. He’d grown up in a circus and was used to animals, so he kept insisting that the horse must have been crazy. He didn’t try horse riding again for a while after that.” 

She gave a small smile as she finished the tale, and Bruce smiled too. Dick _had_ come off a horse shortly before the whole nightmare with Two-Face, but his exceptional reflexes had saved him from injury. However, he had been very indignant that the horse had spooked and spent days vehemently declaring that something was wrong with the animal. Bruce had been rather entertained by his protestations because it was blatantly obvious that Dick’s pride had been hurt by the fall. Leslie had come out to Wayne Manor to check him over, just in case, and had been treated to the full diatribe as well. And since they were using the coming-off-a-horse excuse for the injuries inflicted by Two-Face, it made sense to use the story that went with it. According to Kevin, anecdotes would make Dick’s relationship with Bruce more real to the judge.

“What about the broken fingers when Richard was eleven?” Kevin was now asking.

“Dick was building a tree house and smashed his fingers with a hammer,” Leslie replied, her mouth twitching in a way that meant she was uncomfortable.

And it was no wonder she was uncomfortable, Bruce realized guiltily. He was forcing her to perjure herself in order to keep his secrets. It was a monumental favour and one he didn’t think he would ever be able to repay.

“What about Richard’s other injuries?” Kevin Green asked. “Can you tell us anything about them?”

Leslie shrugged. “Those didn’t happen in Mr. Wayne’s care and I wasn’t aware of them until all of this started. I can’t explain them.”

“Dr. Thompkins, have you ever had reason to think Richard was being abused?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I run a clinic that deals with abused children on a regular basis. They’re usually angry and distrustful of others. They struggle in school and in extreme cases they can be violent. Dick is a bright, happy, outgoing boy who has no problems relating to the people around him. There is no way he’s being abused.”

“Dr. Thompkins, how would you describe Richard’s relationship with Mr. Wayne?”

“They’re very close. Dick trusts Mr. Wayne and is clearly very comfortable around him. And it’s obvious to anyone who’s seen them interact that Mr. Wayne adores Dick. He’s probably the most overprotective parent I’ve ever seen, which makes this whole abuse thing absolutely ludicrous.”

Bruce scowled. He wasn’t overprotective, he was cautious.

“In what way is Mr. Wayne overprotective?” Kevin wanted to know.

“Most children get a checkup once a year, Dick has four,” Leslie began, and Bruce frowned. What was wrong with that? Dick was Robin, he needed the extra checkups to make certain there were no detrimental effects on his body. 

“I get called out to Wayne Manor at just a _hint_ of illness,” Leslie continued. “And if Dick does fall ill, Mr. Wayne calls me twelve times a day about every temperature spike or sneeze.”

Bruce’s frown deepened. Now she was just exaggerating, he didn’t call her _that_ often!

But Leslie wasn’t finished. “If Dick gets invited to a school friend’s house and Mr. Wayne doesn’t know the family, he has someone vet them before he allows Dick to go. And even though Dick is in high school now, Mr. Wayne still refuses to let him into Gotham by himself.” Leslie shook her head. “He paid a small fortune to install a high-tech security system at Gotham Preparatory when Dick started there, and I’m pretty sure he’s done the same thing at Gotham Academy. Although given who Mr. Wayne is _and_ that Dick was kidnapped in January, I can understand his paranoia.”

Bruce flashed Leslie an irritated look because that was caution, not paranoia.

“Has Mr. Wayne ever told you why he has Richard treated at Wayne Manor or your clinic instead of Gotham General?” Kevin asked.

“Yes. He told me that he doesn’t want Dick being harassed by the media. He also said that he doesn’t think Dick would be safe at Gotham General. Given that there have been incidents every time Dick has been treated there, like the attempted kidnapping when he had his appendix out three years ago and the picture that was taken of him last Friday, I agree with Mr. Wayne’s concern.”

“Does such protectiveness sound to you like a man who’s abusing his son, Dr. Thompkins?”

Leslie snorted. “No.”

“No more questions, Your Honour.”

As Kevin returned to his seat, the prosecutor got to his feet and came towards Leslie. Bruce felt the air tighten around him; he knew exactly how the man was going to try and discredit Leslie. He just hoped she would be able to convince Judge Harcourt that the prosecutor was wrong.

“Dr. Thompkins, you said that you’ve known Richard for almost five years, but how long have you known Mr. Wayne?”

“Twenty-four years.”

“Twenty-four years, that’s a long time. Mr. Wayne must have been just a boy when you met?”

“He was eight. I was one of the first people on the scene the night his parents were murdered.” She seemed unable to stop herself from flicking a brief, apologetic glance at Bruce for mentioning his most taboo subject.

“Yes, tragic that.” The prosecutor shook his head. “Dr. Thompkins, isn’t it true that you’ve maintained a friendship with Mr. Wayne ever since that night?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I would stand by if I thought he was abusing a child.”

“Even if it meant losing your clinic?”

“Excuse me?”

“Dr. Thompkins, you run a free clinic that depends on the charity of others to survive. And isn’t it true that your most generous benefactor is Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I would allow him to hurt a child. I took an oath that demands I act in the best interests of my patients.”

“But Richard is only one patient. How many hundreds of patients would you betray if you allowed the clinic to close its doors, Dr. Thompkins?”

“Mr. Wayne is not the only person who donates to the clinic. It can survive without him, meaning I have no reason to protect him.”

“I disagree, Dr. Thompkins. You see, I’ve looked into your clinic’s financial records, and without Mr. Wayne’s considerable donations over the last few years, Gotham’s free clinic would have long since closed its doors. You need Mr. Wayne to keep the clinic open. The question is, would that force you to choose your hundreds of other patients over just one boy?”

“Dick is my patient and I wouldn’t allow any harm to come to him,” Leslie insisted.

“But Mr. Wayne is your patient too. Doesn’t that present a conflict as to whose rights you would protect?”

“No,” she ground out. 

“You’re certain you’re not biased towards Mr. Wayne in any form?”

“ _No._ ” 

“Dr. Thompkins, do you admire Mr. Wayne as a parent?”

“Yes.”

“Even though the man you’ve just described comes across as very dominating?”

“Mr. Wayne isn’t dominating. He’s overprotective.”

“Is that what you call controlling his son’s life?”

“Mr. Wayne doesn’t _control_ Dick’s life! He just wants to make sure Dick’s safe. Given who Mr. Wayne is, no one could fault him for doing that.”

“He vets who the boy hangs out with and dictates the places he can go to. How is that not controlling?”

“It’s overprotection,” Leslie insisted, her expression tight.

“Overprotection. Dr. Thompkins, do you still maintain that you aren’t biased in Mr. Wayne’s favour?”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor smirked. “No further questions, Your Honour.”

The prosecutor returned to his seat and the judge addressed Leslie. “Dr. Thompkins, you can go.”

Bruce felt sick as Leslie stepped down off the stand. Throughout the proceedings, Judge Harcourt had maintained a grim, inscrutable expression. However, he was now staring after Leslie with a thoughtful expression on his face. Bruce didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Mr. Green,” the judge addressed him, “do you have any other witnesses?”

Kevin stood up. “Not at this time, Your Honour. The caving expedition guide who witnessed the current injury to Richard Grayson was unable to travel from Colorado today. We have his statement and can get him here at a later date if needs be.”

“I see.” The judge frowned and glanced at the file in front of him. 

Bruce knew he was looking at Dick’s X-rays and the photographs of his scars, and swallowed hard. _Please don’t take my son from me._

After several minutes of studying the file, Judge Harcourt looked up. “The boy is still unable to speak, correct?”

The prosecutor nodded and the judge’s frown deepened. “While I’m not convinced as to Mr. Wayne’s guilt, it concerns me that Richard has sustained serious injuries that Mr. Wayne can’t account for. Therefore, I can’t sanction handing the child back to him without speaking to the boy. I’m granting CPS an order of temporary custody.”

Bruce felt something in his chest crack and his head sank into his hands in utter devastation. Behind him he heard Alfred gasp.

“The dispositional hearing is set for three weeks from today,” the judge continued. “If Richard is released from hospital before that time, CPS will find a suitable home for him.”

“Your Honour,” Kevin Green spoke up, “we ask that Richard be placed somewhere he’ll be safe. Given who Mr. Wayne is, Richard could be targeted.”

The judge nodded. “Agreed. Ms. Elliot, I want you to ensure that Richard’s location be known only to a select few for the boy’s safety.”

“Your Honour,” Kevin continued, “What about visitation rights for Mr. Wayne? He hasn’t seen his son since Friday, and both CPS and the hospital are refusing to keep him updated on Richard’s condition.”

“Mr. Wayne is a flight risk,” the prosecutor spoke up. “If he gains access to the boy, he could potentially take him out of the country.”

“Then have the visits supervised,” Kevin retorted in irritation, glancing at the prosecutor. 

“But CPS haven’t yet interviewed Richard,” the prosecutor continued to argue. “Allowing Mr. Wayne to see Richard could provide him with an opportunity to coach him.”

The judge held a finger up. “Prosecution makes a valid argument. Visitation rights are denied until CPS have had a chance to interview Richard. Mr. Wayne may have supervised visitation after that. However, I am ordering CPS to keep Mr. Wayne informed on the boy’s condition.”

“But–” Kevin opened his mouth to speak.

“ _Enough,_ councillor. I’ve made my decision. Both parties will put together your evidence briefs and have them ready no later than three days before the dispositional hearing. Court is adjourned.”


	8. Chapter 8

The drive to Wayne Enterprises was sheer hell for Bruce. They’d lost. He’d _lost_ Dick. There were no words to describe the agony he was feeling. Kevin Green had told him this didn’t mean he’d lost Dick permanently, that once the boy had recovered his speech he would be able to clear Bruce’s name. And in the meantime, Bruce would be able to visit Dick once the boy had given his statement to CPS. 

It did nothing to reassure Bruce. As long as the door to Dick’s hospital room remained open they would be unable to get their stories straight. And if Dick regained his speech before they could, Bruce would lose him forever. Not to mention that CPS were trying to find the medical records for Haly’s circus. And while those medical records were virtually untraceable, one phone call to Jack Haly would shatter Bruce’s lies.

Bruce knew it wasn’t fair to blame Haly’s circus for injuries they weren’t responsible for, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t tell CPS the truth and anything else would only make him look even more suspicious. He just hoped CPS wouldn’t think to contact Jack Haly directly. At the moment, CPS didn’t seem to realize that the circus was a close family who knew everything about each other, instead considering it a transient home without any real familial ties. Their prejudice was hindering their own case and it was the first time in his life that Bruce had been grateful for a bigoted opinion.

The billionaire clenched his fists tightly, his heart close to exploding from grief. This wasn’t fair! He and Dick risked their lives to keep this city safe and now they were paying for it. It certainly proved the old adage that no good deed goes unpunished. He wondered who was going to break the news to Dick, and his heart ached at the thought of the boy having to deal with this alone. It just wasn’t _fair._

“Master Bruce?” Alfred’s voice came from the front of the car and Bruce started. The butler had been so silent since leaving the courthouse that Bruce had almost forgotten he was there.

“What is it, Alfred?”

“You may want to brace yourself, sir.”

There was a tightness to Alfred’s voice and his eyes were narrowed as he stared through the windshield of the car. Bruce leaned forward in his seat to see what Alfred was looking at, and then swore through clenched teeth.

Even from four blocks away, the mob outside Wayne Enterprises looked intimidating. Hoards of cameras and reporters were spilling from the sidewalk onto the street, forcing cars into the opposite lane as they tried to navigate past Wayne Enterprises. Bruce thought the throng of reporters outside the courthouse had been bad, but this was a hundred times worse! How the hell were they going to get into the parking garage beneath the building? Thank god they’d brought one of the tinted cars.

They were a block out when someone recognized the car and the crowd surged forwards. Alfred increased his speed to try and get as close as possible to the garage entrance before they were swamped. 

A wall of noise descended on them as bodies hit the car from all sides. Bruce couldn’t even make out what questions the reporters were yelling through the din. Christ, this was even worse than when he’d taken Dick in! He prayed fervently that this mess was sorted out before Dick had to face these vultures. 

The tinted windows hid them from view, but Bruce was still aware of the frantic flashing of cameras. He hoped Alfred could see what he was doing so that no one would get hurt. Bruce wasn’t averse to giving the reporters a good fright to teach them a lesson, but the last thing he needed was an assault charge destroying his chances of getting Dick back. “Alfred, how are you holding up?” 

“Just a couple of more feet, sir, and I should be able to turn in. Where on earth is security?”

“Good question,” said Bruce grimly, reaching for his phone. He dialled directly to his head of security’s cell and within three seconds the man had picked up.

“Mr. Wayne,” Graham North greeted him. 

“Graham, where’s security for the parking garage? It’s a complete free-for-all down here! Alfred and I can’t get through.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne. I do have men in the street trying to control the situation and get you through. More are on the way but I need to keep men on the other entrances to the building; the press have been trying to sneak in all morning.”

“Of course they have,” said Bruce through gritted teeth. “Have any of the staff been subjected to this?”

“A few. One of the receptionists had damage done to her car on the way in.”

“Get the details and I’ll take care of that damage.” Just then his own car rocked slightly and Bruce clutched his phone tighter in anger. “This is insane! Graham, call the police and get some officers down here now! This isn’t just a nuisance anymore, it’s dangerous. And I won’t have my staff being harassed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bruce disconnected the call just as two security guards were able to clear some of the crowd back, allowing Alfred to roll the last couple of feet towards the security gates which opened immediately to admit them. Bruce looked out the rear window to see three security guards preventing anyone from crossing through before the gates closed again.

Neither of them spoke as the butler steered the car to the executive parking level. Only when the car pulled into Bruce’s space did the billionaire release a frustrated sigh. “This is ridiculous! How long are we going to have to put up with this crap?”

“Not for long I hope. Master Bruce, do you think the security on Master Dick’s room will be enough to deter those vultures?”

“It better be,” Bruce growled. He didn’t want those rabid newsmongers within a hundred yards of his son.

“Perhaps a call to social services to ensure Master Dick’s privacy would not go amiss?”

“I’ll call Kevin and have him do it. At least that way I can’t be accused of trying to _buy_ anyone off.” Bruce’s tone was bitter, but he couldn’t help it. He was hurting from the loss of his son, and still smarting from Dr. Lewis’ comment in court because when had he ever done _anything_ to suggest that he bribed people to get what he wanted?

Alfred shook his head. “I find it rather incredible that in a city where hundreds of children are being neglected and abused, CPS are using all of their resources and focusing all of their energies on you. Master Bruce, everyone who knows you knows you wouldn’t do this.”

“But there are plenty of people out there who don’t know me that believe I would do this,” Bruce pointed out. “And all those other abuse cases usually slide beneath the media’s radar. With a case this high profile, CPS know they could be accused of neglect if they aren’t seen to act. That’s why they’re hitting me with everything they’ve got.”

Alfred sniffed. “That still doesn’t make this witch-hunt rational, sir,”

“I know.” Bruce sighed. “I’d better get upstairs. I’ve got a meeting with the board to prepare for. Alfred, I don’t want you to leave until the police get here and break up that mob, okay?”

The older man nodded. “I had planned on examining the Bentley for damages before leaving anyhow. What time shall I return for you this evening?”

“I’m not having you face that mob anymore than you have to,” Bruce replied grimly. “Once you make it back to the manor I want you to stay there. I’ll use the company helicopter to get home.” Travelling by helicopter was extreme, but Bruce just didn’t have the energy to face this mob and the one currently camped outside Wayne Manor again – three press gauntlets in one day had been more than enough.

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Positive. Contact me when you get home, Alfred.” Bruce didn’t like the thought of the older man having to face the mob twice more, here and at the manor, but he knew Alfred would never acquiesce to leaving the car and taking the helicopter.

“Of course, Master Bruce.”

“Drive safely,” Bruce added, climbing out of the car.

“As always, sir.”

Bruce strode quickly towards the elevator and stepped in. He needed to speak with Graham North again. If this media circus was going to continue for the next three weeks then they would need extra security. And if the police didn’t manage to clear that mob in the street by this afternoon, Bruce would call Commissioner Gordon personally. He might be able to fly over this but his staff couldn’t, and he genuinely didn’t want them being subjected to such harassment. 

The doors pinged open on the top floor where Bruce was greeted by Lucius Fox and his head of security. “Bruce, are you alright?” asked Lucius at once.

“I’m fine, Lucius,” said Bruce, before turning to his head of security. “Graham, did you speak with the police?”

“Yes, sir. They’re sending officers now.”

“Good. Can you see about getting some extra security for the building until this all dies down? But make sure to vet every candidate carefully. The last thing I want is some reporter getting in undercover.”

“I’ll get on it right away, Mr. Wayne,” Graham responded, nodding to him and Lucius before hurrying away.

“How are you holding up?” asked Lucius once they were alone. 

“I’ve been better,” Bruce answered wearily. “How did everyone find out so fast?”

“The judge’s ruling was announced before you’d even left the courthouse. It’s on every news channel.” He paused and shook his head. “Bruce, how could that judge think this is true? It’s ludicrous!”

“He didn’t completely believe it,” said Bruce, starting to walk towards his office. “But until CPS talks to Dick he wouldn’t take the chance of ruling in my favour.”

“And what about Dick?” Lucius asked tentatively, falling into step beside him. “Do you know how he is?”

“I know his speech has been affected by the head injury, but that’s it. CPS hasn’t seen fit to share any details with me. The judge did order them to keep me updated on his condition, but I have a feeling that will involve a lot of pulling teeth on my part just to get those updates.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” said Lucius sincerely. “I know this must be hard for you.”

Hard was an understatement. Bruce ached to the very bones of his soul. Being away from his son was making him feel like he was being torn asunder. They’d been apart before, but this wasn’t the same as when Bruce travelled for business or League missions. This time Dick was in the same city and Bruce was forbidden from seeing him. All the times they’d been separated by whole continents – _worlds_ even – and they’d never felt further apart. It was a nightmare. And the worst of it was Bruce didn’t know when or if this nightmare would end. 

He was jerked from his musings by someone calling his name and found himself outside his office with Lucius staring at him in concern. Bruce had walked right past his secretary without even acknowledging her. “I’m sorry, Lucius, what did you say?”

“I was just asking if you’re up to this? The board haven’t arrived yet, we could postpone the meeting.”

Bruce shook his head. “I need to keep busy or I’ll go insane.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” said Bruce and turned to his secretary. “Maggie, could you hold all calls except Alfred or Kevin Green, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne.” 

Bruce looked away from her quickly. Pity was etched in every corner of her face and if there was one thing he hated it was pity; pity made him feel like he might drown in his own misery. Pushing open the door to his office, Bruce entered and held the door for Lucius to follow him in before closing it after him.

“Alright,” said Bruce briskly, striding over to his desk. “Give me the rundown on the Hanley contract and the Vladreech Syndicate takeover. And where do we stand on the Comtech negotiation?” Maybe he could lose himself in business for an hour or two.

That idle hope fell flat as soon as he sat behind his desk and his gaze fell on a picture of Dick. There was no forgetting about this for even ten seconds, not when his world was falling apart around him.

Despite his best efforts, Bruce only half heard Lucius’ rundown. His eyes kept going to the picture of Dick, the cheerful, happy grin tugging at his heart and making his stomach flip. Bruce didn’t know what he would do if he lost Dick permanently. It would be a different loss to that of his parents, and he had a feeling that the vengeance of Batman would do nothing to assuage this one.

 _Don’t think like that!_ he told himself harshly. _You will get him back._

Dick was coming home. There was simply no other option.

oOo

Exhausted from a fresh battery of tests, Dick was wheeled back to his room. However, the tiredness did nothing to sway his good mood.

He’d woken that morning to find that he was no longer slurring or stuttering his words. He still had a very limited vocabulary and couldn’t put a coherent sentence together, but Dr. Phillips seemed to think it was a sign that he was on the road to recovery and would likely regain his full speech within the next week or two. 

Dick couldn’t have been more relieved. It was isolating and frustrating not being able to speak and he’d been terrified that it might be permanent, or that he would need months of speech therapy to regain the ability to speak. Dick was a natural conversationalist who couldn’t bear the thought of this silence for months on end.

Another reason for Dick’s elevated mood was the discovery that his custody hearing was taking place today. It had been the first thing the news stations announced when he turned on the TV that morning. Dick had full faith that Bruce would fix this; no one in their right mind could believe his guardian was hurting him! This was all just one big misunderstanding that Bruce would get straightened out in court. By the afternoon, Bruce and Alfred would be here with him.

As the orderly helped him into bed, Dick hoped that Alfred would bring some of his delectable cooking because the stuff they were calling food here should come with a hazard warning! Dick’s appetite had been poor since he’d regained consciousness – although he attributed some of that to the stress of being parted from Bruce – and all he could do was pick at the crap they were putting in front of him. It didn’t help that his good arm still hadn’t regained its full strength, and he usually ended up with more food on his gown than in his mouth.

Dick scowled at the gown. He’d had two gown changes in the last twenty-four hours and they still hadn’t managed to find him one that wasn’t covered in rocket ships. It was humiliating; he wasn’t a little kid!

“Well, someone looks very serious,” a cheerful voice sounded, and Dick looked up to see Dr. Phillips entering his room just as the orderly exited it.

He grinned at the man before rolling his eyes and tugging at the hospital gown.

“Ah,” said the doctor, nodding in understanding. “Sorry, Richard, I know it’s a little young for you but I’m afraid the nurses haven’t been able to find anything else to fit you. Perhaps we could organize to have some of your clothing delivered from home?”

Dick nodded vigorously. _Yes, please!_

Dr. Phillips laughed. “Slow down, sport. I know your head feels better but I’d like you to take things very easy until the swelling is gone. So no extravagant head gestures, okay?”

Dick grinned sheepishly and nodded more sedately. The word ‘yes’ was still eluding him. 

“Good boy. Now, I’ve had a quick look at the CT scan you just had. The swelling in your brain has gone down considerably since yesterday, but there’s still a ways to go so I want you to use the call button if anything feels even remotely funny. That means any increase in pain or dizziness, no matter how small. Do your arms and legs still feel weak?”

Dick nodded. 

“That’s pretty normal given the nature of your head injury and its likely to be a few weeks before your full strength returns. But if you feel the weakness getting worse let someone know. Same goes for any disimprovement in your hearing or vision, okay?”

“Kay,” Dick managed, revelling at being able to say the word without floundering.

“Atta boy. Do you have any questions?”

Dick tugged gently at his splints because man, did he want those _off._

Dr. Phillips raised an eyebrow. “The splints?” 

Dick nodded. 

“You’ll need to talk with your orthopaedic doctor about that. But from the amount of swelling and stitching you have, I’m guessing it’ll be the end of the week before you’ll be able to put a cast back on.”

Dick slumped against his pillows and sighed in frustration. 

“Are the splints uncomfortable, Richard?”

Dick nodded. He was starting to feel like one of those bobble head dolls, so he poked himself in the side to emphasize his point.

“They’re digging into you?” Dr. Phillips guessed, and Dick nodded, _again_. “I’ll talk to the nurses on the ward here and see if they have a smaller set of splints. Those were put on you in the ER and they look like they might be for adults – they were probably all they had in the ER.”

Dick thought that was dumb. Surely they had more kids with broken bones in the ER than adults? Wouldn’t it make sense to have more kid-sized stuff? Like gowns that weren’t covered in rocket ships.

A knock interrupted them and they both looked towards the door to find a woman standing there. Dick recognized her as the woman from social services who had been here before and frowned. What was _she_ doing here?

“Hello, Dr. Phillips,” she greeted the man. “How’s the patient?”

“He’s improving, but still not ready to be questioned,” the doctor answered.

“I’m not here to question him,” she replied, coming towards the bed. “I just want to see how he is. Hello, Richard,” she greeted Dick, stopping beside him. “Do you remember me?”

He nodded warily. Why was she here again?

She smiled. “That’s good because I don’t believe I officially introduced myself on Saturday – it was late and you were a little upset. My name is Margaret Elliot and I’m the social worker who’s been assigned to your case.”

Dick stared at her, stricken, because why did he still have a social worker? Shouldn’t this be over by now?

She frowned a little. “What’s the matter, Richard?”

“Where. Bruce?” Dick asked haltingly. 

Her frown deepened. “Don’t you remember what I told you on Saturday, Richard?”

Dick nodded. How could he forget? “Want. Bruce.”

Ms. Elliot sighed. “Richard, I’m sorry, but I’ve already explained why you can’t see him.”

“Want. Bruce,” he insisted.

She frowned. “I’m afraid you won’t be seeing Mr. Wayne for a while. The courts have granted CPS temporary custody until we can determine exactly who or what caused your injuries.”

Dick stared at her in horror. Bruce _lost?_

“Mr. Wayne lost custody?” Dr. Phillips asked.

She gave him a cold look. “Yes, Doctor, he did. The evidence against him is very strong, which helped the judge to see past the statements of people who are defending Mr. Wayne because of his money.”

“My statement had nothing to do with Mr. Wayne’s financial standing!” snapped Dr. Phillips angrily. “I don’t believe for one second that he’s abusing Richard and keeping him away from the boy while he’s this ill is not only unnecessary, it’s cruel.”

“That’s your opinion, Doctor,” she sniffed. “But the judge and CPS believe something quite different.” She turned to Dick. “Richard, I’m sure this is all a little overwhelming and frightening for you at the moment, but I promise you’re in safe hands. I’ve already got a very nice foster home lined up where no one will hurt you.”

Dick’s heart was pounding as he shook his head. He didn’t want some stupid foster home! He wanted to go back to his _real_ home! “Bruce. Not… Bruce. Me…” He gritted his teeth in anger and tried again. “Bruce. Not. Me. Hurt.” 

Dick wanted to scream. Stupid aphasia!

“Richard, I know he’s been your only parent for the last four years and I understand that you want to protect him,” said Ms. Elliot gently, “but the truth will come out whether you want it to or not.”

Dick glared at her. God, this woman was obtuse! She was only seeing what she wanted to see. 

“Richard, I’m sorry you’re angry at me, but believe it or not, I’m trying to help you.”

“Want. Bruce!” he spat.

“That’s not going to happen,” she said firmly.

Dick closed his eyes and rolled his head away from her. This wasn’t _fair!_ He just wanted Bruce. Why couldn’t this woman _see_ that?

“I know this is a lot to take in,” she continued, “so I’m going to leave and let you have some time to process it. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Ms. Elliot, is it really necessary to separate Richard from Mr. Wayne like this?” demanded Dr. Phillips.

“Yes, it is. CPS are taking Richard’s safety very seriously.”

“What about his emotional well-being? Don’t they care about that?”

She ignored the question. “Dr. Phillips, if there is any change in Richard’s condition, you know where to contact me… Goodbye, Richard,” she added in a warmer voice to Dick.

Dick kept his eyes closed and his head turned away. The misery in his chest was nearly crushing him and this woman was responsible for it. She was the last person he wanted to see right now.

He heard a sigh and the sound of footsteps fading away. After several seconds, Dr. Phillips spoke. “She’s gone, Richard.”

Dick opened his eyes and looked at Dr. Phillips. The pain he was feeling must have been written all over his face because the doctor’s features twisted into an expression of sympathy. 

“I’m sorry, Richard, I really am.”

His words were heartfelt and Dick nodded miserably. From what the two adults had said to each other, it sounded like Dr. Phillips had tried to help Bruce. And that meant something to Dick; at least _someone_ was on their side.

“I know this must be difficult for you,” Dr. Phillips continued kindly, “but if I can do anything to help, I will, okay?”

Dick nodded, keeping his eyes on the bed. They felt suspiciously hot and he was angry at himself. When had he turned into such a baby? He kind of needed Dr. Phillips to go before he embarrassed himself. “Me. Want…Alone.”

The doctor sighed. “Alright, Richard. I’ll be around for several hours if you need anything. In the meantime, try and get some sleep. It’s been a long morning for you and rest is absolutely crucial after a traumatic brain injury.”

And then he was gone, leaving Dick alone with his pain. Dick wrapped his good arm around himself and closed his eyes as several tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed onto his neck. Shame mingled with the misery and anger raging within him. He wasn’t some baby, dammit! Stop crying!

But Dick couldn’t help it. He felt lost, alone and completely helpless in the face of what was happening to him, even though it was _his_ future they were all fighting over!

 _I want to go home,_ he thought miserably. _Why can’t I just go home?_


	9. Chapter 9

By the time he arrived at the hospital on Wednesday night, Batman was getting desperate. Monday and Tuesday had passed without any chance to speak to Dick, and Kevin Green had informed him that Dick’s speech was steadily improving, meaning CPS would question the boy within the next day or two. Kevin had considered it good news, but Bruce had been dismayed by it. They were screwed unless they got their stories straight!

Landing on the ledge outside Dick’s room, Batman cautiously peered in and was surprised to find the boy staring at the window with a particularly alert expression. The instant he saw Batman appear at the glass, he gestured frantically at him to enter.

Batman glanced at the door and saw with indescribable relief that it was closed. He carefully opened the window and slid silently into the room. 

“Batman,” Dick greeted him in a happy whisper when he reached the bed. A small nightlight was the only thing left on, but Batman could still see how pale Dick was.

“How are you feeling, Dick?” he whispered back. 

“Better.”

“You sound better,” he commented carefully. “Your speech?”

“Better. More words.”

“That’s good to hear. What about your head? How’s the pain?” Courtesy of the judge’s order, CPS were keeping him apprised on Dick’s recovery, so he knew that the swelling had gone down and the doctors were happy with Dick’s progress. But Batman wanted to know that his son was comfortable.

“Better,” Dick repeated. “Little pain.”

“Your arm?”

Dick grimaced. “Pain.”

That wasn’t what Batman wanted to hear. “Are they giving you anything for it?”

Dick nodded. “You okay?” he asked Batman, eyes searching.

The Dark Knight felt something tighten in his chest. Typical Dick. Always worried about everyone else. “I’m fine,” he whispered. “But let’s not talk about me. We need to get our stories straight before CPS question you.”

Dick nodded. “Me know. Tell…doc-tor too loud at night. Me not sleep.”

Batman’s lips quirked in the tiniest of smiles. Clever boy. Dick had told the doctors he couldn’t sleep because it was too loud at night in the corridor, effectively getting them to close his door so he could ‘sleep’. “That was good thinking, Dick.”

Dick smiled.

“Now, let’s get our stories straight in case anyone comes in and decides to leave the door open.” Batman wouldn’t be able to relax until they had accomplished that. “Do you think you’ll be able to remember everything I tell you tonight?”

Dick gave him a _duh, yeah_ look.

“I’m just checking. You suffered a traumatic brain injury, Dick, and that can affect memory retention.”

“Me fine.”

“Alright then.” Batman glanced towards the door and listened for a second before proceeding. “Let’s start with your broken arm. I know we said we’d keep it simple and tell people you fell while on a camping trip, but I had to amend that story to account for the bruise Mammoth left on your arm – it’s shaped like a hand. We’re still using Colorado as the location, but I told Margaret Elliot that we went caving on the camping trip and you fell into a hole. I said I caught you, but that the speed of your fall and the force with which I grabbed you resulted in you breaking your arm. I also said we had a caving expedition guide with us who witnessed everything. I’ve created a fake persona called Oliver Benson…” He pulled out the composite photograph for Dick to see. “…Martian Manhunter will play him if needed. Do you have all that?”

Dick looked unhappy as he nodded, and Batman knew it was because the boy hated having to lie. “I know you don’t like lying, Dick, but we don’t have a choice.”

Dick sighed. “Me know.”

“Coming up with a reasonable excuse for what happened with Two-Face is harder because we didn’t account for all of those injuries back then,” Batman explained quietly. He was kicking himself for that now, but at the time there had been no need to reveal the extent of Dick’s injuries. They had kept Dick in the manor until his bruises healed, by which time all evidence of the skull fracture was no longer visible. Too many injuries would have been suspicious during Dick’s first year living with Bruce, so they had accounted only for the visible injuries; the broken arm and one of the broken ribs to explain why Dick was moving so stiffly. 

“We’re still using the excuse that you fell off a horse, breaking your arm and one rib,” Batman continued, “but CPS caught me unawares and I wasn’t able to account for the other two broken ribs and your skull fracture… I told them those injuries didn’t happen while in my care.”

Dick’s eyes widened at that implication and Batman felt a sharp stab of guilt. Ever since he’d blamed the circus for those injuries, he’d wondered how Dick would react. After all, this was essentially pointing the finger at his parents and he wasn’t sure how the boy would feel about that.

“I’m sorry, Dick. They caught me unprepared.” It shamed him to admit it because both Batman and Bruce prided themselves on being prepared.

Dick was now frowning at his bedcovers, obviously struggling with this. Batman knew it would be hard for him to lie and blame the home where he had been so happy. “We’re not going to say it was your parents, Dick. I was thinking maybe we could use a trapeze accident?”

Dick looked at him. “No.”

A cold sensation shivered through Batman. “Dick, we have to account for those injuries or CPS will take you away permanently.”

“Car.”

Batman blinked. “What?” 

“Car,” Dick repeated, and struck his hand lightly against the bed railings.

“A car crash?” said Batman in comprehension, and the boy nodded. “Dick, a car crash is something there would be a record of. CPS could check that too easily.”

“Me seven. Car…” Dick smacked the railings lightly again.

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you were actually in a crash when you were seven?” 

Dick nodded.

“You never mentioned that before,” said Batman quietly. 

Dick shrugged his good shoulder.

“But if there was a record of a car crash, then there would be a record of injuries, Dick,” Batman reminded him. 

“Mom head hurt. No…” Dick waved his good hand to indicate his room.

“Your mother hurt her head but she didn’t go to a hospital?” Batman guessed, and Dick nodded. “Why not?”

Dick looked sad. “Small hurt. No…” He rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign for money.

Batman sighed. “Your family couldn’t afford it.”

Looking even more miserable, Dick nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Dick,” he said softly. “But we still have a problem with that story. You were a seven-year-old child. No one would believe that your parents didn’t get you medical help for a skull fracture and two broken ribs just because they couldn’t afford it.”

Dick mimed writing with his hand and then pointed to the nightstand where a notepad and pen sat. Batman complied and handed them to him, then watched him struggle to write. He frowned. Dick’s hand seemed weak.

After several minutes, Dick handed him the notepad. Batman scowled at how different this scrawl was to Dick’s usual neat handwriting. He wondered if Dick’s dexterity had been affected by his head injury…then forced that thought out of his mind. He needed to concentrate on getting their stories straight. Batman could worry about everything else once they had accomplished that. 

He read what Dick had written. _Crash happened in Chicago. Dad took Mom to free clinic. Clinic closed next time we in Chicago._

Batman looked up. They could use this. “You’re certain the clinic was closed and hadn’t just moved to another premises?”

Dick nodded. 

“Then use the car crash for the skull fracture and the broken ribs. But don’t give too many details for CPS to check into. You were seven so it’s wholly believable that you would have only a vague recollection of the event.”

Dick nodded, looking slightly happier at not having to blame the circus directly.

“Your broken fingers were the only other injury I was able to explain to CPS,” Batman continued. “I told them it happened when you were trying to build a tree house and got carried away with the hammer. I know you hate that excuse,” he added when Dick rolled his eyes, “but it’s the one we used at the time and it’s the one in Leslie’s records.”

Dick sighed and nodded.

“Good boy. The last one you’re going to have to account for is the cigarette burns on your left arm, and even though they’re the smallest injury, they’re going to be the hardest to believably explain.”

Dick glanced at his arm and then looked back at Batman expectantly, waiting to be told what to do. His blind obedience and trust gave Batman a sudden epiphany into how easily children could be manipulated by adults, even by those who put them in compromising situations. Dick had been injured many times as Robin, yet Batman still allowed him to continue as a vigilante. That could very well be considered a form of neglect – abuse even – but that still didn’t stop Dick from being ready to lie to protect his guardian. It was a chilling realization and Batman understood now why Margaret Elliot was so reluctant to believe what she was being told. She’d probably seen countless cases of children lying to protect an abusive patient.

“Batman?” Dick whispered uncertainly and the man shook himself.

“Just thinking. Did you ever have bonfires at the circus?”

Dick nodded.

“Good. I want you to tell CPS that you got too near to one of those bonfires and were burned by a few stray sparks.”

Dick gave Batman a stare of disbelief.

“I know how it sounds, but sometimes the simplest reason is the most believable. You’re only thirteen, Dick; there is absolutely nothing that could plausibly account for cigarette burns on your arm, and no one would believe those marks are anything other than burns. This is the most credible excuse I could come up with.”

Dick gave him an if-you-say-so-look and nodded his agreement to the tale.

“I know you have other scars,” Batman told him, “but those are all fairly small and mimic the usual childhood scars so–”

He stopped speaking when Dick waved a hand at him, and then peeled back his bed covers. Pulling the hospital gown up a little, Dick pointed at an old scar on his right thigh that had been caused by some lunatic high on PCP who had slashed him with a box cutter. CPS hadn’t mentioned it and Batman hadn’t thought about it.

“CPS never asked about that,” he told Dick in reply to the unasked question of what to say about it, “which means they may not ask you about it. But if they do, the scarring is jagged enough to suggest a slipping fall. It could have believably happened climbing a tree with bare legs.” He looked at Dick and added quietly, “It’s up to you whether you would prefer to say it happened in my care or at the circus.”

Dick bit his lip and stared at the scar, thinking hard. Batman could tell that he was conflicted about what to say. He obviously didn’t want to blame the circus and his parents any more than he had to, but neither would he want to say anything that might incriminate Bruce further. 

After several minutes Dick sighed and looked back at Batman. “Not you.”

“You’re going to say it happened at the circus?” Batman confirmed quietly.

Dick nodded.

“If you’re sure, Dick.”

The boy responded by rolling down the hospital gown and pulling his covers back up. He gave Batman a sad look and the Dark Knight felt his breath catch at the misery in his eyes.

He reached awkwardly for Dick’s good hand and grasped his fingers in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Wearing the cowl dampened his emotional responses, making it difficult for him to show affection. It was an unusual psychological effect that he hadn’t observed in other masked heroes. Robin certainly didn’t display any such personality change; he was the same person in and out of costume.

“Dick, it’s going to be alright. This mess will all be sorted as soon as you talk to CPS. You’re going to be home before you know it.”

“Miss home,” Dick whispered softly. 

Batman squeezed the small fingers. “Home misses you too.”

A voice sounded suddenly at the door. Batman grabbed the notepad – leaving it behind after Dick had used it to fabricate a story wasn’t an option – and hurried to the window. Slipping through it, Batman managed to close it almost all the way just as the door opened.

“Richard, why are you still awake?” a soft female voice scolded lightly. Batman recognized it as the nurse who had entered Dick’s room on Saturday night. “You need to rest, sweetheart.”

“No sleep. Want Bruce,” came the plaintive response.

“Oh, honey, I’d have Mr. Wayne here in a heartbeat if I could,” the nurse replied gently. “None of this is very fair, is it?”

“No.”

“Well, I have your next round of painkillers here. They’ll probably make you feel drowsy enough to sleep.” There was silence for a few minutes punctuated by footsteps and rustling. “There,” said the nurse. “Do you need anything else?”

“No.”

“Are you sure, honey? You know, the ward is pretty quiet tonight, I can sit with you for a while if you like?”

“No. Thank…you,” said Dick softly, his broken speech and sad tone tugging at something deep inside Batman.

“Alright, sweetie. But don’t hesitate to use the call button if you need anything.”

“’Kay.”

Several seconds later Batman heard the sound of a door closing and slipped back into the room. In a frustrating repeat of Saturday night, Dick’s eyes were already drooping. They would have no time to just enjoy each other’s company tonight.

Dick gave a lopsided grin as Batman approached the bed. “How home?” he asked.

It took Batman a minute to decipher that he was asking about Alfred. “He misses you. You can probably expect some serious over-feeding when you finally get home.”

Dick smiled at that. 

“Dick, are you alright in here? Are the doctors treating you well?” Without anyone to speak for him, Batman was anxious about the quality of treatment Dick was receiving.

Dick nodded. “Nice.”

“What about reporters? Have any others managed to get into your room since Sunday?” The reporters troubled Batman most of all; they were relentless and he couldn’t be here to protect Dick. Nor could he ask CPS about the reporter from Sunday because Bruce Wayne shouldn’t know about that since no photographs had been published. 

Dick shook his head slowly. His eyes were almost shut and Batman refrained from asking him any further questions. Much as he wanted to talk to the boy, Dick needed to rest. And at least they’d managed to get their stories straight. Batman felt like he could breathe a little easier just by having accomplished that. Within minutes Dick was asleep. Batman stayed with him, watching him sleep and occasionally running his fingers through the dark hair. He missed his boy so much and sneaking in here like a thief in the night only made it hurt worse. But anger was no longer boiling in his blood at the injustice of this because he couldn’t quite blame it on the system any longer.

When the nurse returned an hour later to check on Dick, Batman slipped away, the ache of loneliness gnawing at his heart.

oOo

“Did you speak with Master Dick?” asked Alfred, when Batman returned to the cave sometime after four. No one had been sleeping much at Wayne Manor since Dick had been taken into care.

“I did. We’ve managed to get our stories straight for CPS, so hopefully this mess will be over soon and Dick can come home.” Batman removed his cape and cowl, becoming Bruce Wayne once more.

“And what of Master Dick, how is he feeling?” Alfred enquired anxiously.

“He’s much better than he was on Saturday night. He’s in less pain and his speech has improved, but there’s still a ways to go.” Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

“He misses home.”

Alfred shook his head. “If only CPS could see the hurt they are causing him by doing this.” Bruce didn’t respond and the butler tilted his head. “Master Bruce?”

The billionaire paused midway through removing his belt and gauntlets. “I realized something tonight, Alfred. While I was talking to Dick.”

“Realized something, sir?”

“About how easy it is to manipulate children.” Bruce put his gloves on the table and finished unhooking his utility belt. “Dick is lying to protect me, even though it’s my fault he’s in this situation. It’s my fault he’s been hurt.”

“Sir, you have never hurt him. The villains he faced were responsible for his injuries.”

“Villains he faced because he’s Robin. But he would never have become Robin if it weren’t for me and that makes me responsible. Anyway, that’s not the issue – I’ve known for a long time that Robin is my mistake – the issue is that by letting Dick be Robin I put him in danger, which is essentially abuse. But he’s quite happy to lie to the courts to protect me when _I_ should be protecting _him_. It makes me wonder how many times Margaret Elliot has watched children lie to protect their abusive parents.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that you are an abusive parent, sir?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. But I don’t think CPS are entirely wrong in being concerned about Dick’s safety. I’ve been neglecting it, Alfred. He’s thirteen and look at how many injuries he’s suffered already! It’s not right. Something needs to change.”

“Forgive me, Master Bruce, but it sounds as though you are considering retiring Robin?”

“I think I am. Maybe.” Bruce rubbed his temple. “I don’t know. Retiring Robin could hurt Dick, but…he’s too young to do this.”

“Sir, the time to have that conversation was when Master Dick was nine, not now when he is thirteen and has been Robin for four years.”

“Is that an I-told-you-so?” Bruce asked wryly. Alfred had strongly argued against Dick becoming Robin.

“I’m merely pointing out that your timing in coming to this conclusion has been less than perfect, sir.”

Bruce groaned. “I know, Alfred! But what else can I do? I know that taking Robin away would hurt Dick, but I’m no longer willing to risk his safety. He’s just a child.”

“That will be all the harder to argue now that there are other child heroes.”

“They don’t count,” said Bruce at once. “With the exception of Artemis, they all have powers. And all of them are older than Dick.”

“And they all started crime fighting _because_ of Master Dick. Sir, while I despise that he dons a mask and goes out fighting crime, I really do think you need to come up with another solution to protect him other than retiring Robin. You would hurt him terribly if you took Robin away.”

“But what else can I do, Alfred? If CPS sees even so much as a bruise on him after this then they’ll remove him permanently, because what judge would believe me after all this? I’d lose him for sure!”

“Master Bruce, that is a moot point. You have not yet gotten Master Dick back. Perhaps you should concentrate on winning this battle before you go leaping into another?”

Bruce sighed. Alfred was right, as always. Getting Dick back should be his only priority at the moment. But postponing a decision about Robin wouldn’t make it go away, and Bruce knew he was going to have to make a difficult choice in the future. Allow Dick to remain as Robin and run the risk of losing his son to either CPS or the streets? Or retire Robin, hurting Dick and potentially damaging their relationship in the process? 

Because that was what this essentially boiled down to: should he keep Dick happy or should he keep Dick safe? Bruce wanted both things for his son. The question was, which did he want more?


	10. Chapter 10

Saturday morning found a very anxious Dick Grayson twisting his blankets between his fingers as he watched Margaret Elliot set up a video camera. His speech had steadily improved over the last two days and he was now able to communicate properly with the people around him. He was also able to walk unaided as the weakness pervading his limbs had lessened considerably. He still tired very easily, but the other improvements had been enough to get him moved out of the ICU, meaning Dr. Philips had finally given the go-ahead for CPS to interview him.

Dick had been prepped for a second time last night by Batman, but he was still nervous. What if he forgot something? What if he couldn’t convince her? What if his speech failed him? It was still a little limited and he was inclined to stumble over words when he got upset.

From the corner of the room, Dr. Phillips gave him a reassuring smile and Dick returned the smile weakly. He trusted the doctor and had asked him to stay while he was being interviewed. The doctor had agreed at once.

“Alright, Richard, I’m all set up,” announced Ms. Elliot briskly. “Are you ready?”

Dick nodded. For some strange reason, ‘yes’ was still one of the words he couldn’t say.

“Take this pen and paper,” she said, handing the items to him. “If you’re struggling to say anything you can write it down. And if you get tired at any stage, let me know and we can stop the interview, okay?”

Dick nodded again, knowing there was no way he would stop the interview. He just wanted this over with so he could be reunited with his family.

“Let’s start with your current injury, Richard,” Ms. Elliot said, pointing to his arm. “Can you tell me how it happened?”

“I went camping with Bruce in Colorado. Went…” With difficulty, Dick scribbled _caving_ and showed it to his social worker.

“You went caving?” Ms. Elliot asked.

Dick nodded.

“Who went caving with you?” 

“Bruce. And guide.”

“What was the guide’s name?”

“Oliver…” Again Dick scrawled the word and showed it to his social worker.

“Benson,” she read off the notebook. “So you’re saying the guide’s name was Oliver Benson?”

Dick nodded, but jeez he was getting tired of it.

“Okay. So you and Mr. Wayne went caving with Mr. Benson. What happened in the caves?”

“I fall into hole. Bruce…catch me and I hurt my arm.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Wayne broke your arm and dislocated your shoulder just by grabbing you when you fell?”

Dick nodded. It was somewhat easier to lie about this since he couldn’t clearly remember the true story of what had happened with Mammoth. “I fall very fast and Bruce…grabbed me. My arm…twisted and got hurt.”

“So Mr. Wayne caught you too hard?”

Dick glared at her. “No. I fall too _fast_. He…saved me.”

She sighed. “Very well, Richard. What happened then?”

“Bruce bring me to the hospital. He didn’t mean to hurt me. It was…accident. He feels bad.”

“Let’s move on to your other injuries, Richard. Can you tell me how you broke your other arm?”

“I was ten. Fall off horse. I hurt my arm and rib.” 

Ms. Elliot frowned and Dick didn’t know if it was because there was some flaw in his recounting of the events, or whether she was annoyed that his story matched Bruce’s. “Richard, did you know that you had two other broken ribs?”

“That didn’t…happen on the horse. I was in car…crash and hurt my ribs. I hurt my head too.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where did this car crash happen?”

“Chicago.”

“And what age were you?”

“Seven.”

“Did you go to the hospital?”

“No. Free clinic.”

“And what was the name of the free clinic?” she asked, writing something on the clipboard she was clutching.

Dick shrugged his good shoulder. “I not remember.”

“Richard, this is important. You need to give me that name.”

Dick looked at her in exasperation. “I was seven. I not remember.”

“Alright, Richard. Can you tell me what you meant when you said you hurt your head and your ribs?”

“I break ribs. And I think I break head. It was very sore and…doctor was very serious. I not…allowed in the air.” Dick swallowed. There was an element of truth to that statement; his mother hadn’t been able to perform for several weeks after the accident. And it hurt him to have to use it as part of a lie.

She looked confused. “What do you mean you weren’t allowed in the air?”

Dick refrained from rolling his eyes because he thought that was fairly obvious. Instead he wrote down the word _trapeze_ , then held it up.

“Trapeze,” she read off the notebook. “You mean you weren’t allowed to perform?”

Dick nodded.

“I see.” She consulted her notes. “What about the fingers you broke when you were eleven, Richard?”

“I make tree house. I hit my fingers with…” Dick flushed and mimed using a hammer. He didn’t care what Bruce said, that excuse was just flat-out embarrassing!

“A hammer. Was Mr. Wayne okay with you using the hammer?”

Thank god Batman had added an excuse for that to the rundown last night! “He didn’t know I take it. Didn’t ask his…” Dick wrote down the word _permission._

Ms. Elliot raised an eyebrow as she read. “You took it without his permission?”

Dick nodded.

She pursed her lips. “So the hammer wasn’t locked up?”

“It was. I…picked the lock.”

“You can pick locks?” She looked discomfited. “Who taught you how to do that?”

“Clown at the circus.” At least that much was true. Dick had been able to pick locks before he ever met Bruce. Gordo had taught him when he was eight and Dick had picked it up immediately. He’d always been a quick study.

“Right.” Still looking unsettled, she consulted her notes again, and Dick thought he saw a smirk cross her face. “Can you tell me about the cigarette burns on your arm?”

He tried not to swallow. This was the injury he was most dreading having to account for. Minor as they were, Batman had been right when he pointed out that there was no feasible excuse for something like that on Dick’s arm. Dick prayed she would believe the rubbish he was about to spew at her. 

“Not…not…” Dick strained to say the word cigarette before trying a different tactic. He mimed smoking and hoped Alfred never saw this footage. Anything involving cigarettes was completely taboo in the butler’s book, even something as harmless as miming smoking. Dick sometimes wondered if Alfred had considered them so taboo before Joker had burned lit ones into Robin’s skin.

Ms. Elliot raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me those aren’t burns from a cigarette?”

Dick nodded, his neck starting to protest from the constant nodding. He really hoped the next word that returned to his vocabulary was ‘yes’.

“Richard, I’m sorry but that’s a little hard to believe. If they’re not cigarette burns then what are they?”

“Burns,” Dick answered, then wrote down the rest because he didn’t trust himself to say it. _Burns caused by sparks. We had bonfires at the circus and I got too close to one._

“Bonfires,” she said when she finished reading. “You were burned by sparks from a bonfire, is that what you’re telling me?”

He nodded, doing his best to hide his nerves.

She shook her head. “Richard, do you really expect me to believe that?”

His heart was pounding from nervous adrenaline, but Dick did his best to keep his eyes wide with innocence when he nodded again. 

Her eyes narrowed on his face, studying him intently. Eventually she sighed in what appeared to be frustration. “ _Fine_. What about those scars on your right thigh?”

Dick shrugged his good shoulder again. “I fall…climbing tree. I…scrape leg.”

“And that’s it?” Her tone was dripping with disbelief.

Dick nodded. _You’ve got your answers, lady. Now stop asking questions and let me see Bruce!_

“Richard, you’re going to be asked these questions in court,” Ms. Elliot reminded him. “Did you know it’s a crime to lie in court?”

“I not lie!” he told her indignantly.

“Ms. Elliot,” Dr. Phillips spoke up from the corner. “Richard has answered your questions. It’s not his fault they weren’t the answers you wanted to hear.”

She glanced at the man in cool displeasure. “Dr. Phillips, might I remind you that you are here in a support capacity only? Disrupt the interview again and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He scowled at her but didn’t argue. She returned her attention to Dick. “Richard, I know you care about Mr. Wayne. But if he’s been hurting you, CPS can protect you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Bruce didn’t hurt me.”

“Richard, I can’t protect you if you won’t let me.”

“Bruce. Didn’t. Hurt. Me,” he ground out in furious irritation. 

She sighed. “Alright, Richard, we’ll leave it there. But just so you know, if you change your mind or you need to talk to me about anything, you can contact me. I’m going to leave my number with you, okay?” She slipped a card onto his nightstand before standing up and turning off the camera.

“I see Bruce now?” Dick asked hopefully. Surely they couldn’t continue to keep them apart now that Dick had answered all of CPS’ questions.

Ms. Elliot pursed her lips. “We’ll see.”

Dr. Phillips spoke up. “Ms. Elliot, I was under the impression that Mr. Wayne would be allowed to see Richard once you had interviewed him.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And just where did you hear that?”

“Mr. Wayne’s lawyer informed me when I was speaking to him regarding my testimony for court,” he replied coolly. “You’ve now interviewed Richard and he’s accounted for all those injuries that you’re investigating, and none of them are Mr. Wayne’s fault. Isn’t it time to let Richard see his father?”

“I’ll see what I can do about organizing a supervised visit sometime in the next few days.”

“Next few days?” Dr. Phillips repeated angrily. “Ms. Elliot, Richard hasn’t seen his father in over a week! If CPS really does have his best interests at heart then I’m sure they’ll find a way to organize a supervised visit for this afternoon. Otherwise I think I should contact social services to confirm exactly what the difficulty is in organizing a simple meeting.”

She flushed at the thinly veiled threat. “Dr. Phillips, there is no need for that. CPS is doing everything we can to help Richard.”

“Excellent. Then I can tell security to expect Mr. Wayne this afternoon.”

Checkmate. Dick watched his social worker’s eyes widen in pure fury. She was trapped and she knew it. If she refused to organize the visit for this afternoon, Dr. Phillips would ensure that her superiors would start looking at why. Dick flashed a smile of pure gratitude at his doctor and the man gave him a surreptitious wink in return.

“Fine,” she spat. “I’ll contact Mr. Wayne and see if he can be here at three pm this afternoon.”

Dick’s heart soared. He knew there was nothing in the world that would stop Bruce from being here at three pm.

oOo

When CPS had contacted Bruce to say he could visit Dick that afternoon, he’d cancelled everything to ensure that he and Alfred were outside Dick’s room at three pm on the button.

Margaret Elliot was already waiting for them. “Mr. Wayne,” she greeted him, her tone suggesting she was less than pleased to see him.

“Ms. Elliot,” he replied, making sure to keep his tone civil. “Thank you for organizing this.”

She gave a tight nod, then pointed at the bag Alfred was holding. “What’s this?”

“I brought some of Master Dick’s belongings from home,” Alfred answered politely. “I have also brought some homemade chocolate chip cookies. I hope I have not overstepped my boundaries, madam?”

She eyed him warily. “I’ll need to check that bag for anything suspicious.”

Bruce had to bite back a retort because for Christ’s sake! What did she think they were trying to smuggle in? “Would it be possible for you to do that while in the room, Ms. Elliot?” he asked, indicating towards the door. “It’s just that it’s been over a week and we’re both anxious to see Dick.”

She looked as if she wanted to disagree, but eventually bit out a “Fine. Follow me.”

Nodding to the security guard, she pushed open the door to Dick’s room and entered. Bruce followed quickly, his heart thumping with happiness. He was looking forward to seeing Dick as Bruce and not Batman. He could be more emotionally open as Bruce.

Dick was sitting up in bed, a grey-haired man in a white coat standing beside him. “Bruce!” Dick shouted joyfully as soon as Bruce entered.

“Dick,” Bruce breathed, going straight to the bed and enveloping him in a tight hug, too overwhelmed with happiness and relief to care who witnessed it. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

“I want to go home,” Dick whispered, clinging tightly with his good arm, and Bruce knew only part of that was an act for Margaret Elliot.

He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against the dark head buried against his chest. “I know, Dick. We’re working on getting you home as quickly as we can.” 

Dick nodded.

“C’mere and let me look at you,” said Bruce after a minute, pulling back while keeping one hand on Dick’s good shoulder. Dick smiled at him and Bruce could see relief in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” the boy answered, and Bruce surveyed his face. The bandage had been removed from his head, revealing a mass of dark bruising around the left temple. Some stitching was also evident beneath Dick’s hairline.

Bruce winced and gently brushed his hand against the injury. “Does this hurt?”

Dick shook his head. “Not anymore.” His eyes slid past Bruce and his smile widened. “Alfred!”

“Hello, young sir,” said Alfred softly. “It is very good to see you.”

Still keeping his hand on Dick’s shoulder, Bruce moved a little so Alfred could come closer and grasp Dick’s hand in greeting. 

“I do believe that’s the first time I’ve seen a genuine smile on your face all week, young man,” commented the grey-haired man on the other side of the bed. He was smiling at Dick, and Bruce couldn’t help but feel a little dart of suspicion. This man seemed a little too friendly…

“Bruce is here,” Dick replied happily, grinning at him. 

Bruce could tell at once that Dick liked and trusted this man, which alleviated his suspicions somewhat. So he held out his hand. “I’m Bruce Wayne. And you are…?”

The man shook hands with Bruce. “I’m Dr. Phillips, Richard’s neurologist.” 

The last of Bruce’s suspicions fled upon hearing the name. This was the doctor who had contacted Kevin Green, who was willing to speak up for them in court. He smiled at the man. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Phillips. Can you tell me how Dick is doing? CPS told me there was swelling in Dick’s brain which caused him to lose his speech.”

The doctor nodded. “There was swelling of the brain in the region responsible for language, and it caused something called expressive aphasia. That meant that Richard could understand language, but he couldn’t use it. However, as you can see, that problem is rectifying itself as the swelling in Richard’s brain goes down. Another few days should see his speech return completely.”

“And is that normal? For his speech to return just like that?” asked Bruce. He knew the answer to that, having read everything he could on expressive aphasia as soon as he’d found out what was wrong with Dick, but he couldn’t be seen to be too smart. Not to mention that it wouldn’t hurt for Margaret Elliot to see that he was genuinely concerned for Dick’s welfare.

“Perfectly normal,” said Dr. Phillips. “It’s called spontaneous recovery and it’s very common in cases where the injury to the brain hasn’t resulted in permanent damage. Don’t worry, Mr. Wayne, Richard’s had a bit of a rocky week but he’s come through it admirably. He’s quite the fighter.”

 _You have no idea_. “Dr. Phillips, will there be any future complications?”

The doctor shook his head. “Richard may suffer from headaches for a few months, and he may feel a little weak physically for a while, but so long as he’s monitored carefully, those things will gradually resolve themselves. I suspect he’s quite an active young man, but I’m sure he won’t engage in _any_ strenuous activity until I’ve given him the all clear.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled at Dick.

“I’ll be good,” the boy promised.

The doctor winked. “Atta boy. Now, before I leave you all to have some time together, do you have any other questions, Mr. Wayne?”

“No. Thank you, Doctor.” Bruce smiled gratefully and shook his hand again.

“You’re most welcome,” he replied. “Richard, I won’t see you before I leave today, but I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

Dick smiled and nodded. 

Dr. Phillips left, shooting a look of disgust at Margaret Elliot as he did so. Bruce could guess why; while they were talking, the social worker had been pulling everything out of the bag Alfred had brought. She was now carefully examining each item. It was insanely over the top. What did she think she was going to _find?_

“Ms. Elliot,” Alfred spoke up, “may I give Master Dick some of the cookies I brought?”

“You bring cookies?” said Dick at once.

“Yes, Master Dick. I brought chocolate chip, your favourite.”

Dick beamed at him.

The CPS agent picked up the cookie jar she had placed to one side and opened it, peering in suspiciously. Bruce felt his hackles go up. It was such an outrageously insulting action that even Alfred stiffened. Did she think they were going to poison Dick or something?

Eventually she handed Alfred the jar, then resumed searching through Dick’s clothes.

“Thank you, Ms. Elliot,” said Alfred politely. The social worker ignored him.

Bruce knew Alfred was appalled by such rudeness, but he gave no sign of it as he turned back to Dick and smiled warmly. Removing three cookies from the jar, he handed them to Dick. “Now, young sir, I want you to eat all of those, please. You are terribly pale and I do believe you have lost weight. Are you eating?”

Dick looked at him guilty. “A little.”

“A little is not enough, Master Dick,” chastised Alfred gently. “You are convalescing and that means you need to eat.”

“But the food here is bad,” Dick protested, biting into a cookie. “I can’t eat it.”

“Then I will see about organizing to have more edible food delivered,” said Alfred. “But you must–”

“That won’t be necessary,” Margaret Elliot interrupted him, finishing her search of Dick’s belongings.

“I beg your pardon, madam, but what won’t be necessary?” asked Alfred politely. 

“Organizing food for Richard. He won’t be here for much longer.”

“What do you mean he won’t be here?” demanded Bruce. 

“Richard is being released from the hospital next week,” she replied.

“I can go home?” asked Dick hopefully.

She shook her head. “You’ll be going to your new foster home, Richard. Remember, I told you about it the other day?”

Bruce felt sick to his stomach. They were sending Dick to another home?

Dick was looking at Margaret Elliot in horror. “Why can’t I go home? I tell you everything. Bruce didn’t hurt me.”

“I know what you told me, Richard, but I still need to check a few of those things.”

“But…I want to go home,” Dick whispered miserably. Bruce immediately put his arm around him and glared at the social worker.

“Ms. Elliot, you’ve interviewed Dick. Surely you know by now that I’m not hurting him? Why can’t he just come home?”

“Mr. Wayne, kindly don’t presume to tell me what I know,” Margaret Elliot told him coolly. “Richard is a ward of the state until the dispositional hearing in two weeks time. That means I am responsible for him, and I am not about to place him back in a home where I don’t believe he is safe.”

“Bruce didn’t hurt me!” Dick told her desperately. “Please! I just want to go home.”

Bruce could feel Dick trembling and pulled him closer. He was aware of an anxious knot tightening up his own insides. “Ms. Elliot, isn’t there some way we can move the date of the dispositional hearing up?”

“That is not for me to decide.”

“But there has to be something you can do,” Bruce insisted, trying to keep his anger in check. He understood why the social worker was so suspicious, but that didn’t make this any easier to bear.

“Mr. Wayne, what I can _do_ is my job. And my job is to look out for Richard’s welfare, which means he will not be returning to your care unless the courts are completely satisfied that you are not abusing him. Now, you have over an hour left of this visit so I suggest you don’t waste it by arguing with me.”

Dick looked up at Bruce in despair and the billionaire pulled him into a tight hug. “It’s not _fair_ ,” he heard Dick whisper into his chest. “I want to go home, Bruce.”

Bruce tightened his hold on the boy. There were no words he could say that would comfort either of them right now.


	11. Chapter 11

The weekend, and Bruce’s supervised visits, went by in a flash. By Tuesday, Dick was well enough to be released from the hospital. His speech was back to normal and some of his old strength had returned to his limbs. However, he still tired very easily, which made even the smallest of tasks – like dressing himself – difficult.

His social worker was due to collect him at twelve, but it was now eleven fifty-five and Dick was still struggling to get dressed. He’d been at it for almost thirty minutes, and all he had managed to get on were his jeans, socks and sneakers – the laces of which were still untied. One of the nurses had offered to help but Dick had refused, mortified at the thought. It was one thing to let Alfred help him dress, but a stranger? Besides, she was a woman and that was just weird.

Awkwardly, Dick slipped his injured arm through the armhole of his sweatshirt. Thankfully, Alfred had removed the left sleeve on all of the sweatshirts that he had brought on Saturday; otherwise Dick would have been incapable of getting the sweatshirt on. It hurt enough as it was like this. Dick scowled. This really sucked. Alfred and Bruce should be here, helping him to get dressed so they could bring him home. Instead, Dick was struggling to get his clothes on so he could go to the house of some stranger. All because CPS were a bunch of idiots.

He sighed as he finished easing the sweatshirt up along his arm. There were hundreds of homeless children on the streets of Gotham who could use this bed more than he could. Dick already had a home – a better home than that of every child in this city combined. This wasn’t just unfair, it was a waste of resources. Dick thought it was possibly one of the dumbest things he’d ever seen.

“Are you ready, Richard?” Margaret Elliot asked, walking into his room without even so much as knocking. 

“Almost,” he muttered, cautiously pulling the sweatshirt over his head.

“Here, let me help,” she said, pulling Dick’s sweatshirt down and reaching for the sling he had discarded on the bed beside him.

“I can do it,” he protested, wriggling his good arm through the other sleeve quickly. The last thing he wanted was her help!

But she ignored him and proceeded to slide on the sling and tie up the straps. “I’m glad to see the hospital recast your arm. Did they do it this morning?”

“Yes. And I can do that,” he said, trying to push her hands out of the way so he could tie up the straps himself. 

But she paid no attention to him and continued buckling up the straps. “That’s good. I’m sure the splints were restricting your movements. At least now you’ll have more freedom to play with the other kids at the foster home.”

Dick scowled at her. “I’m thirteen. I’m too old to _play_ with other kids.”

“Of course you are,” she said distractedly, buckling the last strap on the sling. “There. All done. Do you have a jacket?”

Dick nodded and grabbed the jacket he had slung over the back of the chair. He was just putting his good arm through the sleeve when she moved to help him. “I can do it!” he insisted in annoyance.

Again she ignored him, pulling the jacket up before draping the other side over his shoulder. She was just about to zip up the front when Dick jerked away from her.

“I _said_ I can do it! Are you just going to _not_ listen to everything I say?!”

She seemed surprised. “Richard, of course I’m listening to you. I’m only trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need _your_ help! You’ve already done enough.”

She sighed. “You know, this belligerent behaviour won’t help your case. It only makes me wonder what’s causing it.”

“What’s _causing_ it?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’ve taken me away from my home! You’re sending me to live with strangers! I _told_ you that Bruce isn’t hurting me so why won’t you believe me?”

“Because children in your position lie all the time,” she replied. “I’m not sending you back to that place until I’m one hundred percent certain that you’re safe there.”

“That’s for a judge to decide, not you.”

“And a judge may not rule in Mr. Wayne’s favour. You need to be prepared for that, Richard.”

“Of course the judge will rule in Bruce’s favour because he’s _not_ hurting me!” Dick glared at her.

She sighed again. “Richard, I wish you’d stop fighting with me when I’m only trying to help.”

“If you really wanted to help then you’d let me go home,” Dick muttered, fumbling with the zip of his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, his saw his social worker’s hands reach out and he stepped back. “ _I can do it!_ ”

She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, Richard. What about your shoes? Can you do those?”

Dick glanced down at his open laces and flushed because no, he couldn’t. He had spent the better part of fifteen minutes trying to tie the laces before giving up. He had planned on asking a nurse to help with those, but if he were to walk past his social worker to get a nurse’s help now, he would look like a complete child. 

“No,” he admitted in a low voice, fumbling with the zip of his jacket until he managed to pull it up.

“Do you want me to do it?” she asked calmly.

“Yes, p–” He bit off the instinctual ‘please’ that rose to his lips. Alfred would have been appalled, but Dick didn’t think this woman deserved courtesy. He was aware of how childish such reasoning was, but it was a less obvious sort of childishness than say, walking past her to find a nurse to tie his laces. Besides, he was thirteen. He was allowed a certain level of immaturity.

Without saying another word, Ms. Elliot crouched down to tie his laces just as Dr. Phillips walked in. Dick wished the man had walked in ten seconds earlier so he could have been the one to do it. 

“All ready to go?” he asked Dick. 

“Not really. I want to go home.”

Dr. Phillips pursed his lips. “I know. But hopefully you’ll be able to go home after the next hearing.”

Dick nodded miserably. That hearing was two weeks away unless Bruce could get the date changed. 

“Richard, I want you to take it easy for the next few days,” Dr. Phillips began, as Ms. Elliot finished tying Dick’s laces and stood up. “It’s very important that you get plenty of rest so no physical activity of any kind. And if the pain in your head gets worse or you feel in any way funny, tell someone at once.”

“I will.”

The social worker cleared her throat. “Dr. Phillips, do you have any further instructions regarding Richard’s treatment?”

“Yes,” he replied in a brittle voice, handing her a piece of paper and a small bottle. “This is a prescription for Richard’s pain medication. He’s due pain relief in an hour so I have that here–” he indicated the bottle “–to tide you over until you get the script filled. I want to see Richard back here first thing Monday morning for a checkup.”

She frowned. “That soon?”

“Yes.” His voice was clipped and he didn’t elaborate further. Instead he turned to Dick and said warmly, “You take care of yourself, Richard. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Dick gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Dr. Phillips.”

“Let’s go, Richard,” said Ms. Elliot briskly, picking up Dick’s bag.

“I’ll get security to walk you to your car,” said Dr. Phillips, moving towards the door.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m parked just out front.”

The doctor stopped and turned around. “Out front?” he repeated. “But it’s crawling with reporters – you can’t take him out that way!”

“There’s press at every entrance to the hospital,” she returned sharply. “There’s no way of avoiding them.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t at least _try!_ You’re the one who put Richard in this situation so the least you can do is protect him.”

Her nostrils flared in anger. “How dare you imply that I’m not ensuring Richard’s safety! Especially when it was someone from this hospital who revealed that Richard was being released today.”

“You don’t know that it was someone from the hospital,” Dick put in at once. “It could have been someone in _your_ office.”

She glanced down at him. “I can guarantee that it wasn’t my office because my supervisor and I are the only people who know you’re being released today.”

“If it was someone in this hospital who tipped off the media then I apologize on the hospital’s behalf,” said Dr. Phillips. “Let me rectify the situation by having security walk Richard to your car.”

“That will only draw attention to us,” she pointed out. “And one security guard will do nothing to hold back that mob outside. The press will be expecting security, but they won’t be expecting Richard to exit via the front door so I’m going to subvert their expectations by walking right past them. They’re letting other patients and hospital staff exit without bothering them, and they didn’t even look twice at me.”

“Because they’re waiting for Richard. They’ll recognize him immediately!” 

“Not once he puts this on,” she countered, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a baseball hat. She sat it on Dick’s head. “Pull that over your eyes once we get to the front door and no one will recognize you.”

Dick stared at her in disbelief. Was she for real? That was the oldest trick in the book and the media would see through it at once. 

“Ms. Elliot,” the doctor began angrily, but she interrupted him.

“I don’t have time to stand here arguing with you, Dr. Phillips. Let’s go, Richard.”

A knot steadily growing in his stomach, Dick was hustled past Dr. Phillips and out of the room by the CPS agent. As he was led down the hall, Dick threw an anxious glance over his shoulder just in time to see a very angry-looking Dr. Phillips stalk over to the nurses’ station and pick up the phone.

Dick looked back at his social worker. She looked calm, like she really believed this would work. It was unbelievable how unreasonable one person could be. “Um, Ms. Elliot, I’m not sure this is going to work. Maybe we should–”

“Richard, don’t worry. I’ve done this before and you’d be amazed at what people miss when it’s put right in front of them.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Trust me, people walk right by celebrities all the time without even seeing them. No one is going to notice you, especially when you’re with someone nobody knows. Look around you, Richard, none of the people in this corridor are even giving you a second glance, are they?”

Dick glanced around and sure enough, no one was paying any attention to him. “Well, no, but–”

“I’ll tell you what. If even one person recognizes you between here and the front door, we’ll turn straight back around. Deal?” She smiled at him expectantly as they stopped at the elevator and pressed the button to open its doors.

“I guess…” Dick bit his lip. He wasn’t sure about this.

They stepped into the elevator and Ms. Elliot hit the ground-floor button. Dick watched the numbers flash down, the knot in his stomach tightening nervously. He’d never faced the media on the same scale that Bruce did on a regular basis. From day one his guardian had sent out the message that Dick was off-limits to the press: Dick only travelled in the tinted cars, he never attended events where the paparazzi had free reign, and in the early days, Bruce had ensured that any paparazzi who overstepped their mark with Dick had difficulty getting work in Gotham again. Bruce didn’t usually use his influence and power like that, but his reasoning had been that their example would encourage the next paparazzo to think twice before targeting Dick. It didn’t always work – there would always be a few paparazzi brazen enough to try something – but it had been enough to ensure that Dick never had a mob of paparazzi screaming in his face.

The doors pinged open on the ground floor lobby and Ms. Elliot draped an arm across Dick’s shoulders as they exited the elevator. “We’ll look like mother and son this way,” she explained quietly. “Now, pull your hat down and stay close to me. You wait and see, we’ll be in the car before you know it.”

Dick did as she suggested, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his gut. 

No one paid them any attention as they crossed the lobby and, true to Ms. Elliot’s claims, no one recognized him. But the real test was the vultures outside. Dick sucked in a breath as Ms. Elliot pushed open the front door and he caught a glimpse of the waiting crowd spread across the plaza; there had to be at least fifty reporters out there! 

He didn’t dare look up as they walked past the reporters, heading for the steps that led to the street. The knot in his stomach started to unravel when no one made any move towards them. He couldn’t believe that the CPS agent had been right; without Bruce, Alfred or any security, no one was giving him a second look.

“We’re almost there,” she said in a low voice. “My car is the blue Honda just a few hundred yards in front of us.”

Dick lifted his head a little and spotted the car parked by the curb…at the same time as a reporter coming up the steps spotted him.

The man’s eyes lit up in recognition and he sprang forward, his camera flashing before Dick could react. “Richard, have you any comment to make about the accusations against your guardian?”

“Move out of the way, please,” ordered Ms. Elliot, her grip on Dick’s shoulder tightening.

The man ignored her, blocking their path while continuing to take pictures of Dick. “What about your injuries, Richard? What caused them?”

“Move!” snapped Ms. Elliot, trying to steer Dick around the reporter, but the man kept moving in front of them.

Several loud yells erupted from behind them and Dick knew they’d been spotted. Beside him, Ms. Elliot went rigid and literally pushed the reporter out of the way as she hurried Dick towards the steps. But it was too late.

In seconds they were surrounded and Dick was being blinded by flashes. He could hear yells from every side.

“Richard, is it true that Bruce Wayne’s been abusing you?”

“Can you tell us what happened to your arm?”

“Where are you going now, Richard?”

“How long has the abuse been happening?”

“Is there any truth to the rumour…?”

“What’s going to happen to…?”

“…plans to…”

“…abuse…Mr. Wayne…”

“…true that you…”

“…bruises…”

Their yells merged into one confused din as the reporters closed in around them, and Dick felt like he was being suffocated by the sheer volume of people pressing in on them from either side.

“Let us through. Let us through!” his social worker kept saying, trying to push her way through the throng. Her left hand had a tight hold on Dick’s upper arm, trying to pull him with her, while shielding him as best she could with his own bag, which was clutched in her right hand. “I said let us through! This is harass–”

And then she was gone. Dick felt her hand being ripped away as she was swallowed up by the crowd. Wildly, he looked around for her but could see nothing except a wall of bodies and flashing lights. Someone knocked his hat off, and Dick held up his hand as several cameras went off directly in front of his face. “Stop it!” he yelled, but even he couldn’t hear himself. 

Desperately he pushed at the mob closing ranks around him, but for every set of bodies he managed to get through, there was another set right beyond them. It was an absolute frenzy and he was trapped. 

The reporters jostled closer, still yelling and nearly taking Dick off his feet. His injured arm ached as several people crashed into it and he felt himself start to panic. By now the reporters were pressed so close around him that even though Dick was being knocked sideways, the surrounding crush kept him upright.

 _This can’t be legal!_ Dick thought, shoving blindly at the bodies surrounding him. He had seen Bruce run paparazzi gauntlets on the television before, but it had never looked quite as aggressive as this. For one thing, the reporters didn’t touch Bruce. Instead they carefully maintained a circle of space between themselves and Bruce. And they had _never_ kept Bruce trapped within the confines of the circle.

“Stop it!” Dick yelled, when a particularly vicious surge smashed into him, and a wave of pain shuddered down his arm. “Let me out…Please, let me out!” The flashing lights were making his head swim and his ears started to buzz from the excited screams around him. His chest tightened restrictively, but Dick couldn’t tell if it was from panic or the mob crushing him. 

Fear starting to press down hard, Dick pushed frantically at one of the reporters. The man shoved back and Dick stumbled. He would have gone down this time but for the strong hand that caught him. Before Dick knew what was happening, he was being lifted off the ground and held tight against a broad chest. Brass buttons glinted at the corner of Dick’s eye. Dazed and shaking, he looked up into the grim face of one of the hospital security guards – Dick recognized him as one of the men who had stood watch on his door. Heart pounding, he looked around and saw another burly security guard viciously pushing the paparazzi out of the way, clearing a path in front of them. Cameras were still clicking and flashing madly, so Dick closed his eyes and put a hand over his face. His head was reeling.

Over the yells of the crowd, Dick heard the sound of something smashing on the ground, followed immediately by several expletives, but he kept his eyes shut tight. He was aware of the sensation of going down steps, more shoving while the security guard tried to get through the swarm, and then a harsh male voice roaring, “GET BACK!”

The next thing Dick knew, he was being put down. He opened his eyes to find himself in the backseat of a car, the press swarming around it. His social worker was using Dick’s bag to push her way towards the driver’s side where she had to struggle to get the door open. Dick could see that she was white-faced and trembling.

“Me an’ Burt will hold ‘em off as best we can ‘till you pull out!” the security guard who had carried Dick yelled at Ms. Elliot, as he backed out of the car. 

She nodded, seemingly unable to speak.

Dick grabbed the security guard’s arm before he had withdrawn completely. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Yer welcome,” said the guard gruffly, and then he was gone, slamming the door closed.

Dick heard the sound of the central locking kicking in and the car starting up while the mob around them continued to yell. Still shaking, he kept his head down as the car rolled slowly forward, Ms. Elliot honking the horn and revving the engine to get through the crowd. Only after several long minutes, when Dick felt the car moving smoothly, did he dare look up.

“Are you alright, Richard?” asked Ms. Elliot, eyes glued to the road and hands in a death-grip on the steering wheel. She sounded breathless. 

“I…think so,” he managed, voice weak and unsteady. His heart was still thumping. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Were the paparazzi allowed to do that? 

“I’m sorry, Richard,” said his social worker in a quiet voice. “That was completely my fault. I would never have taken you out that way if I’d thought for even one second they would recognize you.”

His mouth felt dry. “I don’t…I don’t have to face them again, do I?”

Ms. Elliot shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m going to speak to my supervisor about putting some special provisions in place for you. Fortunately, you won’t be back at school for at least another two weeks so we don’t have to worry about that just yet.”

Dick looked miserably out the window. If he wasn’t back home with Bruce and Alfred in two weeks, he didn’t know what he would do.

oOo

“Bruce, you need to turn on the TV right now!” Lucius Fox’s voice was urgent as he burst into the billionaire’s office unannounced.

Bruce’s head jerked up from the contract he’d been reviewing. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Just do it. Channel Five news.”

Confused and a little alarmed because Lucius was known for his cool head, Bruce grabbed the remote and switched on the television. Flicking to the Channel Five news, his jaw dropped to see Dick being swarmed by a horde of reporters. The boy looked panicked as he tried to fend off the aggressive mob surrounding him with his uninjured arm. 

“WHAT THE HELL?” Bruce roared, getting to his feet so fast that he sent his chair crashing to the floor.

“It happened ten minutes ago outside Gotham General,” Lucius explained anxiously. “The press mobbed him as he left.”

Happened. Past tense. Meaning it was too late to save him from those vultures. “Where the _fuck_ was his damn social worker?!” Bruce snarled, rage boiling over.

Lucius shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Bruce watched as Dick was jostled and pushed, his head looking wildly around as though searching for a way out. The baying reporters kept knocking him sideways and Dick’s small frame would have been trampled underfoot if the mob hadn’t been hemming him in on all sides. Bruce growled, a very specific growl reserved only for Batman, when Dick’s injured arm was slammed into several times by reporters and cameras. Jesus Christ, they were practically tearing him apart!

He kept losing sight of Dick whenever cameras or reporters got in front of the lens, but occasionally he resurfaced, pushing blindly at the bodies surrounding him. At one stage, Bruce could make out Dick yelling at the press and was able to lip read some of it. His heart wrenched when he realized what Dick was saying.

Let me out.

Bruce groaned miserably. _Oh, Jesus, Dickie!_

Dick’s face was pale with fright as he pushed the nearest reporter hard. Something in Bruce rose up violently to see the man push back, but it was immediately squashed by blind terror when Dick stumbled and disappeared underfoot.

“ _No!_ ” Bruce moaned in anguish, putting a hand over his mouth as Lucius gasped.

Bruce couldn’t see what happened, but the next view he had was of Dick in the arms of a large security guard. The billionaire watched Dick raise a shaking hand to cover his face. Another burly security guard stood directly in front of them, clearing a path and meeting the aggression of the mob with aggression of his own. Bruce felt a vindictive pleasure at seeing the security guard knock a camera out of the hands of a man who attempted to shove it in Dick’s face. The paparazzo went a furious shade of red and yelled at the security guard, who promptly scowled and yelled back.

Bruce made a note to pay that guard’s legal fees when the paparazzo tried to sue him for damages.

He started when he spotted Margaret Elliot shouldering her way through the throng and shouting into the ear of the security guard clearing a path. Bruce clenched his fist in anger. Where had that bitch been from the start?

Then they all disappeared from view, and Bruce could see nothing for several minutes but flashing cameras and the heads of reporters. His next clear shot was of the security guard who had been clearing a path; his arms were held wide to keep the press back from a blue car with its back door open – Bruce couldn’t make out the model. There was no sign of Dick, but the guard who had been carrying him was straightening up behind the other guard and closing the car door. Bruce guessed that Dick was in the car.

He could see the two security guards attempting to keep the mob back from the car, and then his view of the scene was obscured again. The last clear picture was of the car driving away with a few reporters running after it, before the frame cut to Vikki Vale in studio.

“Richard Grayson was then moved to an unknown location,” Vikki said, clearly continuing with a news report she had begun before the footage of Dick had played. “Neither social services nor Mr. Wayne has yet commented on the media frenzy outside Gotham General, but the extreme reaction of the paparazzi has been said by some to border on assault.”

The newswoman seemed conveniently oblivious to the fact that a reporter from her own news station had been there to film that clip of Dick being so savagely assaulted by the media. Bruce growled and stabbed the button on the remote to turn off the TV.

“Bruce?” Lucius ventured cautiously.

“ _Goddamn BASTARDS!_ ” Bruce exploded, flinging the remote so violently onto his desk that it cracked before bouncing off the desk onto the floor. “What the fuck were CPS thinking exposing him like that? Jesus Christ, they remove him from my care because they think I’m hurting him and then they allow THAT to happen?! Where’s my coat? I’m going down there!”

Bruce rounded his desk to find his path blocked by Lucius. 

“Hold on, Bruce, you need to think about this rationally…” the older man began.

“ _Rationally?!_ Lucius, there was nothing rational about that! I can’t leave Dick in their care! They haven’t had him five minutes and look what’s happened! I need to–”

“You need to calm down,” Lucius interrupted seriously. “If you go charging down there in the temper you’re in now, you’ll only be handing them an excuse to label you unstable. Bruce, I know this is hard but you can’t go down there. Not like this.”

Bruce glared at him in fury. It wasn’t Lucius he was mad at, it was the situation, but he still couldn’t keep his glowers in check. “Well, what do you suggest I do? They’re taking Dick to a foster home right now. What if the media follow him there? What if someone tries to kidnap him from there? He’s not safe and I have to–”

“It’s not your call to make,” Lucius told him. “Your best bet now is to call your lawyer and have him contact CPS. Bruce–”

Lucius was interrupted at just that moment by the ringing of Bruce’s cell phone. Scowling, the billionaire fished it out of his pocket and stabbed at the answer button. “ _What?_ ” he barked into the phone.

“Mr. Wayne, don’t do anything stupid,” came Kevin Green’s voice at once. “You stay where you are and don’t go near CPS, got it? Let me handle this.”

So he’d seen the news too. “Stay here? You want me to stay here after _that?_ ”

His lawyer’s voice was calm. “Yes, I do. I can hear how angry you are, Mr. Wayne, and it will seriously hurt your case if you go down to CPS and start yelling at everyone. If you handle this correctly it might work in your favour.”

“Work in my favour?” Bruce repeated angrily. “Kevin, right now I don’t _care_ about that. Right now, all I care about is Dick being safe!”

“Then let me take care of it. I’ll make sure that CPS are more vigilant about Dick’s safety. You just concentrate on calming down.”

“I want to talk to CPS,” Bruce insisted. “If they can’t provide the proper security for Dick then I’m taking him home where he’ll be _safe!_ ”

“They’re not going to let you take him before the dispositional hearing.”

“Why not?” Bruce demanded. “They know I’m not hurting him! Why can’t I bring him home?”

“Mr. Wayne, Dick is still a ward of the courts–”

“ _I don’t care!_ ” Bruce snarled. 

“Well, you have to care,” Kevin said calmly. “Dick hasn’t been returned to you yet, and if you try to forcibly remove him from social services then you’ll never get him back. Mr. Wayne, right now you are winning this fight. The evidence against you is falling apart: Dick’s account of his injuries has lined up perfectly with yours. His doctor is arguing that not only is Dick not an abused child, but he is strongly bonded to you and removing him from your care would be extremely damaging to his emotional well-being. Not to mention everything that’s happened at Gotham General is only strengthening your case because it supports everything you’ve claimed about why you don’t have Dick treated there. If you go down there now, you will jeopardize all of that.”

“Kevin, none of that is going to matter if something happens to him while he’s in CPS’ care! Dick isn’t a typical case; he’s my son and that puts him at risk. I need to make sure CPS are taking that seriously.”

“Then I’ll set up a meeting with them. For tomorrow. When you’ve calmed down.”

“But–”

“Mr. Wayne, this is what you hired me to do. Please, let me do it.”

“Kevin, I’m not undermining you, but I _need_ to talk to CPS. It’s not just about Dick’s safety – I have to find out if he’s okay! That mob could have hurt him and he’s already recovering from other injuries.” His voice was a little shrill and Bruce scowled. He needed to get a grip; he sounded like a hysterical housewife.

Clearly Kevin Green thought so too because his voice took on a soothing quality when he spoke again. “Mr. Wayne, I know how hard this is for you, but you have to think about Dick. The last thing you want is for CPS to think that you’ve got a bad temper when they’re investigating you for child abuse. You _need_ to calm down before you speak with them.”

Bruce was silent. Kevin had a point, but he didn’t know if he could just stand by while social services endangered Dick like this.

“Let me be the one to talk with CPS,” Kevin continued. “I can find out how Dick is and make sure they take his safety more seriously until he’s returned to you.”

At that moment there was a knock on the open door. Bruce’s secretary stood in the doorway looking nervous. “Mr. Wayne?”

He held up a finger. “Okay, Kevin, you win. But _please_ , call me the second you have news on Dick?” Bruce swallowed anxiously. God, he hoped those vultures hadn’t hurt him.

“I’ll call back as soon as I’ve spoken to them,” his lawyer promised and hung up.

Pocketing his phone, Bruce turned to his secretary. “Yes, Maggie, what is it?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Wayne, but I have Mr. Pennyworth on the phone. He said it’s urgent.”

Panic lurched through Bruce. Had CPS contacted the manor about Dick? “Put him through.”

She disappeared back to the outer office and Bruce strode over to his desk. He picked up the phone as soon as it buzzed. “Alfred, what is it? What’s wrong?”

The butler’s crisp tones were slightly harried. “Master Bruce, _please_ tell me that the reason I could not reach you on your cellular phone is because you were on a business call and not yelling at Gotham’s social services department?”

“I was talking to Kevin Green. He was warning me against going down to CPS.”

“How coincidental, that is exactly why I am ringing you.”

Bruce grimaced. “You saw the news?”

“Unfortunately. Do you know if Master Dick was hurt?”

“I don’t know. Kevin is going to contact CPS and find out. He’s promised to get back to me as soon as he knows something.”

“And I trust you won’t be contacting CPS to yell at the first person who answers?” Alfred asked carefully.

“No!” replied Bruce, a little defensively. 

“Forgive me, sir. I believed you would react with great anger after such a reprehensible act by the press, and I only feared that it would cause you to do something you might regret. I was obviously mistaken.”

“Obviously,” Bruce muttered. 

They both knew he wasn’t.

“Did Mr. Green indicate how long it would take for him to get in touch with CPS?” asked Alfred, worry in his voice.

“He didn’t say. But I don’t imagine it will take too long after that debacle. CPS just made a monumental screw-up and they’re going to be scrabbling to cover their asses.”

“It would serve them better to ensure Master Dick’s safety,” Alfred sniffed. He paused, then added quietly, “I do hope he will be alright. I hate to think of him going to strangers after such an ordeal.”

Bruce sighed miserably. It caused him actual, physical pain to think of it. “Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

“Has there been any progress in getting the date of the hearing moved up?”

Bruce put a hand to his temple. “It didn’t even cross my mind to ask Kevin. I’ll find out when he calls back. I’ll contact you as soon as I hear something.”

“Very good, sir. I shall speak with you then.”

“Okay. Oh, and, Alfred…thanks.” Bruce was generally very good at hiding his anger, but there had been times when he would have erupted if it hadn’t been for his faithful old friend. Alfred always knew exactly when and how to head Bruce off before he did something he would regret. 

“Of course, Master Bruce,” the butler replied quietly, before hanging up.

“Alfred warning you against going to CPS?” Lucius guessed, as Bruce returned the phone to its cradle.

He nodded. “First Kevin and then Alfred. All I need now is for Leslie to call and complete the holy trinity.”

“Well, if they’re the holy trinity then you can consider me the sentinel. I’m not leaving this office until I’m certain you won’t do anything stupid.”

Bruce sighed. “You all make it seem like I’m a complete rage-a-holic.”

Lucius shook his head. “You don’t get angry, Bruce. I’ve seen you face down the most frustrating, infuriating people in the boardroom without even so much as a facial tic. But when it comes to Dick…”

His voice tailed off, but Bruce knew what Lucius meant. Dick was his weak spot, the way through his shell. His son. What hurt Dick, hurt Bruce, and the billionaire reacted accordingly.

And what scared Bruce was that others knew it. After all, if you wanted something from one of the richest men in the world, then the best way to get it was by going after the person he valued most. It was what would make Dick a target while in foster care.

Bruce swallowed. He needed to get Dick out before that happened.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time they pulled up at a neat little two-story in the suburbs, Dick was well overdue his pain medication and his head was thumping. His social worker had driven for more than an hour around the city to throw off any reporters that might have followed them, before taking the longest route possible out to the residential suburb of Summerland. 

Ms. Elliot climbed out of the car and glanced furtively around, before reaching in to take Dick’s bag out. Then she opened his door and spoke in a low voice. “Let’s get inside quickly, Richard.”

Stomach churning, he slid out of the car and looked at the house where he was supposed to live for the next two weeks, maybe longer. His heart ached for home.

Closing the car door behind him, his social worker guided him up the path to the front porch. Dick noticed that her eyes kept darting left and right, scanning for anyone that might see them. She had obviously been just as spooked by the media frenzy as Dick. 

They were just coming up the porch steps when the front door opened. Skittish after what had happened outside the hospital, Dick stopped abruptly.

“Oh, you poor dear,” came a soft voice, as a short, dark-haired woman appeared in the doorway. She gave Dick a sympathetic look. “We saw the TV. Are you alright?”

Ms. Elliot spoke before Dick could respond. “I’m sorry, Dana, but would you mind if we stepped inside first?”

“Of course,” said the dark-haired woman, and stepped aside to let them in, revealing a tall, blond man with glasses standing behind her.

Dick didn’t move. He didn’t know anything about these people… What if he couldn’t trust them? But Ms. Elliot gently nudged him forward. He swallowed as he entered the house and heard the door closing behind him. He was vulnerable and trapped in a house of strangers; if they meant him harm, there was nothing he could do about it. 

Dick knew there was something inherently wrong with his thinking that he would even consider that they meant him harm, but he was jumpy after what had happened with the media and was finding it hard to trust strangers after the events of the past week. Nervously, he turned around to face the three adults.

“I’m so sorry we’re late, Dana,” Ms. Elliot began, but Dana interrupted her.

“Don’t apologize, Margaret. We saw what happened outside the hospital on the news. Are you both alright?”

“A little shaken up, but otherwise fine.” She turned to Dick. “Richard, this is Greg and Dana Foster, your new foster parents.”

“Foster?” Dick asked, unable to stop the smirk that crept briefly across his face. His foster parents’ surname was _Foster?_

“Appropriate, don’t you think?” replied Dana with a wink. 

Still wary, Dick shrugged his good shoulder. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Richard,” Greg said, his voice a low baritone. “Welcome to our home.” 

He held out his hand to Dick, who shook it with trepidation. 

“Why don’t you both come into the kitchen?” Dana suggested. “I’ve just taken a batch of scones out of the oven.”

Dick’s stomach rumbled a little at the mention of food and he nodded, head twanging painfully at the movement. He needed his painkillers, but couldn’t bring himself to speak up because he didn’t know what to expect from any of them. He wasn’t used to feeling so uncertain around other people.

Dana smiled at him. “This way.”

She led them into a large, shaker-style kitchen. The room was warm and welcoming, a delicious smell of baking in the air. A stove sat against the left wall, two comfortable chairs strategically positioned on either side of it, while an enormous, scrubbed wooden table dominated the centre of the room. 

“Here, let me take your jackets,” Greg offered, bringing up the rear.

Ms. Elliot immediately shrugged hers off, but Dick was reluctant to shed his. These people seemed nice, but he was still having trouble trusting them. Caution had been drummed into him, both as Robin and Dick Grayson, and after the last week those instincts were on hyper-vigilance.

“You don’t have to take yours off, Richard,” said Dana, catching his hesitation as she started to take crockery out of the cupboard.

“Okay,” he muttered. 

“Why don’t you have a seat, Richard?” Greg suggested, taking Ms. Elliot’s coat. “Sit anywhere you like. You too, Margaret.”

Dick quickly took a seat, keeping his back to the wall so he had a view of the whole room. Ms. Elliot sat at the end of the table and gave Dick what he guessed was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but which only made him feel sick to his stomach. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at home with Bruce and Alfred.

Greg moved to help Dana and in minutes the table was set, a plate of scones and a pot of coffee in the centre of it. “Is milk alright, Richard?” Dana asked, putting a glass in front of him and hovering with a jug. “We don’t allow soda in the house.”

“Milk is fine, thank you,” said Dick quietly. She smiled and poured a glass of milk, before buttering two scones for him.

“Now,” Ms. Elliot began, once Greg and Dana were seated across from Dick. “You both know that Richard will be here for the next two weeks, possibly for longer depending on the judge’s decision at the dispositional hearing, so–”

“But the judge can’t rule against Bruce now that I’ve told you what happened,” Dick said anxiously. “He has to let me go home!”

His social worker looked a little weary. “Richard–”

She was interrupted by Dana, who was studying Dick intently. “Do you want to go home, Richard?” 

Dick nodded miserably. “I’m sorry. You and Greg seem like nice people but you’re not Bruce and I just want to go home.”

“Then I hope the judge lets you do that,” said Dana softly. “But since you have to wait two weeks for that to happen, why don’t you give us a chance until then?”

Dick sagged. “Okay,” he whispered.

“I know that this must be pretty intimidating,” Dana continued. “But we’re going to do our best to make you feel welcome. We’re not a bad bunch, and the other kids are near enough to your age that you guys might have some fun together. And if you’re missing Mr. Wayne, perhaps Margaret could organize for you to have some supervised visits with him here?”

She raised a questioning eyebrow at the social worker, who looked irritated. “I can’t allow Richard to have his supervised visits here because then Mr. Wayne would know his location. As it is, we’re going to have to talk about keeping his presence hidden from others to avoid a repeat of today.”

“You think the press might show up here?” Greg spoke up, looking concerned. He struck Dick as a man of few words.

“Well, that’s what I’d like to avoid happening,” replied Ms. Elliot seriously. “I know that both of you can be counted on to be discreet about Richard’s presence, but the other children…?”

“We’ll speak to them,” Dana assured her. “They don’t know yet that Richard is coming to stay with us; I just told them that we have a new kid coming today. Don’t worry, Margaret, I’ll explain why they can’t tell anyone that Richard is staying with us.”

“What about your neighbours?” 

Dana shook her head. “They don’t pay any attention to the kids unless they bother them. And the only one who really visits us is Mrs. Watkins, who’s practically blind. She won’t even see Richard much less recognize him.”

Ms. Elliot relaxed. “Then we shouldn’t have a problem. The next thing we should address is Richard’s injuries. His doctor gave him strict instructions to rest and ordered him not to undertake any physical activity. He’s also told Richard to inform someone if he starts to feel worse. Given that Richard is still recovering from a traumatic brain injury, I’m hoping that you will monitor him closely.”

Dana frowned in concern. “Should Richard have been released from the hospital if he’s still ill? He’s very pale.”

“He was cleared by his doctor. Those instructions are just a precaution,” Ms. Elliot assured her. “I have a script for his pain med–ication…” Her voice trailed off as she reached into her handbag and pulled out the script, along with the brown bottle containing the pain medication Dick had been due to take almost an hour ago. She turned to Dick with a look of contrition on her face. “I’m sorry, Richard. After the pandemonium at the hospital, I forgot that you were supposed to take these.”

She opened the bottle and handed Dick two small, white pills. Wordlessly, he took the proffered pills and popped them in his mouth, swallowing them down with some milk. He hoped they kicked in soon. His head felt heavy with pain and he just wanted to lie down.

Ms. Elliot gave the prescription to Dana. “I’m sorry. I had intended to get this filled on the way here but with everything that happened…”

Dana waved her away. “It’s fine, Margaret, don’t worry about it. Greg has to go back to the store after this so he can pick up the pills then.” She handed the sheet of paper to her husband. “Probably best if you don’t go to our usual pharmacy, honey.”

He nodded, pocketing the script.

“Is there anything else we need to know about Richard?” Dana asked. “Does he have any schoolwork that he needs to keep up with?”

The social worker shook her head. “His doctor has advised against school and its related activities while Richard is still recuperating. But Richard does have an appointment with his neurologist first thing Monday morning. I will take him to his appointment and I will be here at eight to pick him up.”

“What about the paparazzi?” Dick asked at once, his heart starting to race at the thought of facing them again.

“I’m going to speak with my supervisor about organizing security for you,” said Ms. Elliot. “But it’s unlikely the press will remain at the hospital now that you’ve been released.” She turned back to Dana. “Do you want to tell Richard your house rules?”

Dana looked kindly at Dick. “Are you ready to hear our house rules, Richard?”

“Okay,” he muttered, staring at the scones he had only half-eaten. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. This was all too real. Head-achingly real. 

“Are you sure, sweetie?” Dana asked.

Of course he wasn’t sure! Dick didn’t even want to be here. He wanted Bruce. He wanted to go home. Still looking at his plate, he nodded. 

“Alright, Richard, if you’re sure.” Dana’s voice was soft. “Now, a lot of our rules probably won’t apply to you, but it’s a good idea for you to know them so you’re on the same level as the other kids, okay?”

Still not looking up, Dick nodded.

“First rule is that you keep your curfew. Everyone has a curfew and the time depends on their age. But given your situation, Richard, I’m not sure if you going out by yourself is such a good idea. How do you feel about that?”

Dick looked up, shrugging his good shoulder. “Fine. Bruce doesn’t let me into Gotham by myself anyway.” At least, not as Dick Grayson he didn’t.

Dana smiled at him. “Sounds like a smart man. Don’t worry, if you want to go anywhere, either myself or Greg can take you. And if it’s somewhere us fogies aren’t welcome then Terry or AJ can go. But you’ll have to be back by seven at the latest.”

“Who are Terry and AJ?” Dick asked, frowning.

“Terry and AJ are the oldest kids here,” she explained. “They’re both good boys…although Terry can be a bit prickly. But don’t worry, his bark is worse than his bite. Is that an acceptable compromise, Richard?”

Dick shrugged again because it didn’t really matter. After what happened outside the hospital he had no plans to go anywhere anytime soon. “Yeah, sure.”

“Second rule is that homework gets done straight after school,” Dana continued. “That rule won’t apply to you since you’re off school at the moment, but it means the other kids will need quiet to study at that time, okay?”

Dick nodded.

“Third rule is that you don’t go anywhere without telling us where you’re going, and that one really applies to you, okay, Richard? I know you’ll probably have one of us with you, but if it’s AJ or Terry with you then I want to know where you’re going and who you’ll be with. I’m sorry if that sounds a bit controlling, but your circumstances are a little different than what we’re used to and I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“It’s okay,” said Dick quietly. “Bruce insists on the same thing.”

She gave him another smile. “Mr. Wayne definitely sounds like a smart man. Fourth rule is that chores must be done when they’re supposed to be done. But given that you’re not physically able at the moment, I won’t be assigning you any chores. Once you’re feeling better, we can revisit that – maybe start you with something small like setting the table.”

Dick nodded, his heart aching. These rules were all painfully like the ones at home.

“Last rule is the most important. Everyone in this house must respect each other. That means no violence, no shouting and no stealing. If there’s a problem, come to me or Greg.” She quirked her lips in a half-smile. “Somehow I don’t think that last one will be an issue for you. Now, do you have any questions for me?”

Dick shook his head.

“Okay. Why don’t you eat your scones? You’ve hardly touched them.”

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” His stomach was twisted up in knots from nerves and homesickness. 

Dana eyed him in knowing concern. “Alright, Richard. Dinner will be in a few hours anyway.” She turned back to Ms. Elliot. “Is there anything else you think we should know, Margaret?”

The CPS agent shook her head. “I think we’ve pretty much covered everything. I’ve left Richard’s bag in the hall, you can let me know later if he needs anything. Now, if you’ve no other questions, do you mind if I leave? I’m sorry to rush you, but I’m afraid what happened at the hospital has put me a little behind and I’m due at a hearing in half an hour.”

Dana shook her head. “You go ahead. I think we’re going to be just fine here.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Greg offered in a low voice. “I need to get back to the store anyway.”

Ms. Elliot and Greg got to their feet. “Thank you for the coffee,” said Ms. Elliot, while Greg retrieved her coat. “If there are any issues with Richard, you know where to find me.”

“I’m sure there’ll be no issues with Richard,” replied Dana firmly. “You take care, Margaret.”

“You too.” She turned to Dick. “Richard, I’ll be back on Monday morning to bring you to your appointment. If you need anything in the meantime, let Dana know, okay?”

Dick nodded, a lump forming in his throat as it hit him; he was staying here. He really wasn’t going home.

“You won’t forget Richard’s prescription, will you, honey?” Dana asked her husband as he helped Ms. Elliot into her coat.

Greg shook his head. “I won’t. You need anything else?”

“Not a thing,” Dana replied cheerfully. “I’ll see you later, honey. Bye, Margaret.”

It was only after his social worker had left that Dick realized she hadn’t confirmed anything about a supervised visit with Bruce. He scowled, remembering how she had steered the conversation away from that topic and wondered if it had been deliberate. Dick didn’t understand why she mistrusted Bruce so much. 

“You look pretty serious. Penny for your thoughts?” asked Dana quietly.

Dick bit his lip, debating whether he should say anything. Eventually Dana’s kind expression convinced him it would be okay. “She didn’t say anything about when I could see Bruce again.” His voice came out wobblier than he’d intended.

“You really miss him, don’t you?” Dana commented.

Dick nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He missed Bruce so much. “And she…Ms. Elliot won’t believe that he didn’t hurt me. I don’t know why she won’t believe me,” he finished in a whisper, misery howling in his chest.

“She finds it hard to believe you because she’s seen so many kids lie over the years about their parents abusing them.”

“Bruce isn’t abusing me!” 

Dana held up her hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t say he was, Richard. I’m only explaining why Margaret finds it so hard to believe you.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “You know, Margaret showed me your file before you came here. You’ve had an awful lot of injuries for someone so young.”

“That doesn’t mean Bruce is hurting me!” Dick said fiercely. “I was part of a travelling circus before Bruce took me in and that’s…it can be dangerous. Bruce wouldn’t hurt me. I’m all he has and he’s all I have, and…and…I don’t want to lose my home again…” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and Dick swiped furiously at them in shame. Not again. What was _wrong_ with him? Crying like some stupid baby. 

“It’s alright, Richard–” 

“No. It’s not alright!” Dick choked out. “Bruce is the best in the world and I hate that everyone is looking at him and pointing at him and judging him for something he would _never_ do! It’s not fair and he doesn’t deserve it.”

“It sounds like you think a great deal of Mr. Wayne,” observed Dana quietly.

Dick nodded miserably. He felt exhausted. “I just want to go home.”

Dana reached across the table and grasped his hand. “I know you do, honey. And while I can’t make that happen for you, I can tell you that despite what you think about Margaret, she’s a very fair social worker. I’ve known her for years and I know she can come across as stubborn and headstrong, but that’s only because she genuinely cares. I promise, if she doesn’t find any hard evidence against Mr. Wayne she will drop this and make sure you get home. She’s just a little…gung-ho about getting to that point. Guilty until proven innocent, you know what I mean?”

For the first time in days, Dick allowed himself a spark of hope. “Really?”

Dana patted his hand. “Really. Now, you’ve had a terribly long day and I think you could use a little something to cheer you up. I’ve been told I make a mean hot chocolate, would you like some? I’ll even throw in some marshmallows if you don’t tell the other kids.” 

She gave him a mischievous wink and Dick couldn’t help but grin. “Okay.”

“Good boy.” Dana got to her feet and expertly collected the cups from the table. 

“Do you need any help?” Dick offered, standing up.

“For these few things? Pffft! You rest, Richard, doctor’s orders. Tell you what, why don’t you sit in one of the comfortable chairs by the stove? I’ll bring you over your hot chocolate.”

“Okay. Thanks. And…it’s Dick.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart?”

“I prefer to be called Dick.”

She smiled. “Dick.”

He moved over to the stove and sat down. It was a little warm there so he unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off. The pain in his head was now quieting to a dull ache and that combined with Dana’s motherly demeanour soothed his nerves somewhat.

Dick studied his surroundings and watched Dana bustle around the kitchen. She had the same brisk yet unhurried pace as Alfred when she worked, and it comforted him while simultaneously making him long for home. After several minutes Dana delivered a steaming mug of hot chocolate into his hands and then sat into the chair opposite him on the other side of the stove.

Dick sipped the hot chocolate. “Wow!” he exclaimed, surprised. “This is as good as Alfred’s!”

“I’m glad you like it. And who’s Alfred?”

“Our butler. He takes care of everything at home.”

“Butler, huh? With a name like Alfred, he’s just got to be English.”

Dick grinned. “As English as they come!”

“Tell me about him.”

So Dick did. He talked about Alfred and Bruce. He talked about school. He told her about the very prestigious upcoming mathlete tournament in Metropolis where he would be one of the youngest contestants ever. Eventually, Dick finished talking and realized nearly an hour had passed without him feeling it. It was so good to be able to talk again. He’d missed being able to have a proper conversation.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to talk so much.”

“That’s quite alright, honey. I enjoyed hearing about your family. I rather like the sound of Alfred.”

Dick grinned because Alfred was awesome. Who wouldn’t like Alfred?

Dana gave him a searching look. “Would you like to hear about the other kids in the house now?”

Dick nodded. He was starting to trust Dana; she was nice and she didn’t seem to have any preconceptions about Bruce. Plus, he needed to know about the other kids because he was going to have to meet them sooner or later, most likely sooner.

She smiled. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to worry about remembering too many names, there’s only four other kids with us at the moment. Sometimes we can have as many as eight! Terry’s the oldest; he’s seventeen and has been with us for about a year. He’s a little rough around the edges but he has a good heart. And like I said already, his bark is worse than his bite. Then there’s AJ. He’s sixteen and has been with us the longest – almost three years. He’s also the most easy-going person I’ve ever met. Seriously, you could drop a bomb on him and he’d just raise an eyebrow at you!”

She shook her head, smiling. “Next we have Lyssa. She’s sixteen and she’s been with us for…oh, nineteen months? And just to warn you, Dick, she won’t talk to you. But don’t take it personally because she doesn’t talk to anyone. She’s taken a vow of silence.”

Dick’s eyes widened a little. “Seriously?”

Dana nodded. “It’s driving her teachers nuts. But she’s doing all her homework and attending all of her classes so I don’t see why she shouldn’t be allowed the freedom to _not_ express herself if that’s what she chooses.”

“How long since she’s said anything?” Dick asked, fascinated. He couldn’t imagine choosing not to speak, especially after he’d just spent almost a week in forced silence.

“About two months now,” Dana answered seriously.

“Wow,” said Dick, blinking. _Intense._

“Last we have Nathan, or Nate as we call him. He’s fifteen, and he’s only been with us for four months.” Dana’s expression grew serious. “He’s still adjusting so you might find him a little harder to get on with than the others, even though he’s the nearest to you in age. He’s a good boy; he just has a little trouble controlling his temper sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Let’s just say he has a very short fuse. But if he loses it while you’re here, just walk away and let me or Greg deal with it. He won’t hurt you, but his outbursts might seem a little frightening because they’re so extreme. He’s improved enormously since he came to stay with us though.”

Dick nodded. Given the people he’d gone up against in the past, he doubted an angry teenager would scare him. But he couldn’t exactly tell Dana that. “So, when do they get home?”

Dana glanced at the clock on the wall. “Pretty soon actually. Do you have any questions for me before they get here?”

“Um…” Dick chewed on his lip nervously. “I’m sort of curious about something, but I don’t want to offend you…”

Dana smiled. “I very much doubt you’d offend me, honey. Go ahead and ask whatever you’d like to ask.”

“Is it all teenagers that you foster?” Dick was surprised by how old the other kids were. From what he’d seen as Robin, foster kids tended to be younger.

Dana nodded. 

“Why?”

Her expression grew sad. “Because teenagers get the worst deal in the foster system. Younger children take priority for placement and most foster homes prefer younger children because they generally come with fewer problems. It means teenagers often get shunted into detention centres and group homes. And it’s been my experience that those places are completely useless in helping troubled teenagers.”

Dick frowned. “So you specialize in troubled teenagers?” 

“You could say that.”

“But I’m not a troubled teenager,” Dick protested.

“No one thinks you are, Dick. But because of who Mr. Wayne is, Margaret needed to leave you somewhere she could be sure you were safe.”

“And I’m safe here?”

“Absolutely, honey.”

Just then they heard the front door opening and several loud voices in the hall. Dick felt his stomach flutter.

“You’ll be fine, sweetie,” said Dana reassuringly.

Seconds later, four teenagers trouped into the kitchen, two of the boys talking loudly.

“No way, man. Hinkle’s like a gimpy stallion, he can’t even run a corner route,” the tallest of them was saying. “It’s got to be Darby.”

“Darby?!” the shortest of them exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding me; that dude can’t run worth shit!”

“Language, Nate,” Dana reprimanded him mildly, getting to her feet.

The teenager looked sheepish. “Sorry, Dana.” Then he spotted Dick and started, staring at him in disbelief. So did the other three teenagers.

“Everyone, this is Dick,” Dana announced calmly. “He’s going to be staying with us for a while. Dick, this is Terry, AJ, Lyssa and Nate.” She indicated to each of them as she said their names.

“Hi,” said Dick quietly, appraising them while they were staring at him with gobsmacked expressions.

Terry was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and blue eyes that carried a wary edge Dick had seen countless times before in street kids. AJ was a muscular African-American who wore a small, gold hoop in his left ear. His stunned look dissipated pretty quickly into one of calm acceptance. Lyssa was a slightly chubby Goth in ripped jeans and a Tragic Black t-shirt. She was staring at Dick like he was some sort of bug or science experiment. And Nate was the shortest of the four, with dark hair and a slight scowl. He was studying Dick with utter dislike.

“Isn’t he the rich kid from TV?” he demanded. “He doesn’t need a home! Why is he here?”

“Nate,” Dana rebuked quietly. “You know that everyone who comes to stay here comes to stay for a reason. We don’t judge anyone in this house and that extends to Dick as well. Okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, looking less than thrilled at the prospect.

Terry was staring at Dana incredulously. “Seriously…Richard Grayson? He’s going to rough it here with us?”

“He’ll hardly be _roughing_ it, Terry,” she replied drily. “And he prefers Dick.”

Nate snickered. “Dick? Sounds appropriate.”

“Nate!” Dana’s soft voice now had an undertone of steel to it and the dark-haired teenager flushed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

Dick’s nervousness was just starting to return when AJ walked over to him and held out his hand. “S’cool to meet you, man.” His voice held a deep calm that reminded Dick of Kaldur.

“You too,” said Dick in relief, shaking his hand.

“Yeah, what he said,” Terry mumbled awkwardly, jerking a thumb at AJ. 

Dick smiled at him.

With the exception of AJ, they were all inclined to keep staring at Dick so Dana cleared her throat and they all looked at her. “I need you guys to listen because this is very important. You aren’t to tell anyone that Dick is staying with us. Not the neighbours and certainly not any of your friends. No one, okay?”

“Why?” asked Terry, looking surprised.

“It’s for Dick’s safety. If word gets out that he’s here, he could be targeted.”

“Targeted?” repeated Nate in disbelief. “By who?”

“The press for starters,” Dana replied, striding over to the portable television on the counter and switching it on. “And I for one don’t want to see _this_ happen here.” She pointed at the TV screen where footage of what had happened outside the hospital was airing.

Dick cringed. It looked every bit as aggressive and frightening as it had felt. Bruce was going to flip when he saw it.

“Holy sh– crap!” Terry exclaimed. “When did that happen?”

“Today,” said Dana seriously, turning off the television again. “Do you all understand why I’m asking you not to say anything?”

Looking a little shocked, the four teenagers nodded.

“And do you all promise not to say anything?”

There was a mumbled chorus of “yeah” and “okay.”

“Good,” said Dana. “Now, you know the rules…upstairs and do your homework. I’ll call you for dinner.”

They trouped out, all of them except AJ giving Dick a last glance. Dick was troubled by the scowl Nate directed at him; it was full of anger and dislike.

“You okay?” asked Dana when they were alone again. 

“I guess… I don’t think Nate likes me very much.”

“He didn’t like us much when he arrived here either. Just ignore him, honey, and he’ll come around. Now, I’d better get dinner ready. Do you like stew?”

He nodded, feeling uneasy because Nate didn’t exactly strike him as someone who liked being ignored. And the outright dislike he had directed at Dick was only making his feelings of homesickness worse. 

Because nice as Dana was, she wasn’t Bruce, and Dick just wanted to go home. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to stand another two weeks in this limbo of uncertainty and loneliness. He wanted to be with the people he loved, and who loved him. It was hard to understand why the court system would put them all through this misery when none of them had done anything wrong.

For the first time in his life, Dick began to doubt the law. Because where was the justice in tearing happy families apart?


	13. Chapter 13

“This is bullshit! What do you mean I can’t take him home?!”

Bruce ignored Kevin Green’s warning look and continued to glare at Margaret Elliot. It was the day after Dick’s run-in with the media, and the three of them were meeting at the social services’ offices to discuss Dick’s safety. Bruce had come to the meeting with the warnings of Lucius, Alfred and Kevin ringing in his ears, and had made a concentrated effort to remain calm. But when he had suggested that Dick be returned to his care for the boy’s own protection, the social worker had flat out refused, infuriating Bruce.

“Dick was assaulted – _assaulted!_ – by the media while in your care!” Bruce raged. “He could have been seriously hurt! You’re not doing enough to protect him.” He sighed in frustration before lowering his voice. “You know I’m not hurting him, why can’t he come home?”

The CPS agent surveyed him coolly. “Because I still haven’t finished my investigation.”

“Investigation.” Bruce snorted. “Dick and I both told you what happened, and the evidence backs that up. There is nothing to investigate.”

“I disagree, Mr. Wayne. You and Richard could very easily have invented stories after each of those injuries. That’s why I’m looking for further evidence to corroborate your story.”

“What evidence? You could spend forever chasing the medical records of a travelling circus from five years ago and _still_ find nothing!”

“How about the free clinic in Chicago where Richard was supposedly in a car accident?” she countered. “Such evidence would prove beyond a doubt that you’re telling the truth.”

“Great! Then contact the clinic so Dick can come home,” Bruce bluffed, knowing full well the clinic no longer existed.

“That is proving more difficult than I had anticipated.”

“What’s so difficult about it?” demanded Bruce, continuing to play dumb.

“The events Richard described happened almost six years ago. Three of the seven free clinics operational in Chicago at that time have since closed, and the remaining four have no record of Richard being treated there.”

“What about a police report?” asked Bruce, knowing it existed. He had read it after Dick had told him about the accident. It was a short report on how a van had crashed into the car of a circus family: two adults and a small boy. The Graysons had been mentioned by name and there had been no reference to injuries, but there had been a comment about their ‘itinerant’ background, which suggested the officer in question had been biased enough not to follow up on his report. For the second time since this mess had begun, someone’s bigoted opinion was saving Bruce’s ass.

“I’m working on it,” she said evasively.

“Working on it.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to explode. “Are you deliberately trying to slow things down?” Then something struck him and his head jerked up. “Wait! Is that why we can’t get the date of the dispositional hearing moved up?!”

“The judge can only move the date of a dispositional hearing if both parties are ready with their evidence,” Margaret Elliot reminded him. “And CPS aren’t ready.”

“You’re doing this on purpose!” Bruce accused furiously.

She frowned. “Mr. Wayne, I’m not doing this to spite you. I’m only acting in Richard’s best interests, so if you have nothing to hide then you have nothing to fear from my search. Why is it so hard for you to wait another twelve days?”

“Because I miss my son and I’m worried about him!” 

“There is no need to worry. Richard is in good hands.”

“Good hands?” Bruce shot back. “Was he in good hands yesterday when the media attacked him? You know, I went to the hospital this morning to thank the two security guards who waded into that frenzy to help Dick, and Dr. Phillips told me that he wanted security to walk Dick out but that _you_ insisted it wasn’t necessary. You walked Dick right into that snake pit without any thought to his safety!”

She had the grace to look ashamed. “And I’m very sorry about that, Mr. Wayne, but I truly believed I was doing the right thing. I knew a security presence would only call attention to Richard, and I thought that the media wouldn’t recognize him if he were in my presence and wearing a hat. It would have worked too if that one reporter hadn’t identified him.”

“And that’s supposed to make it _okay?_ ” Bruce had been apoplectic with rage when he’d heard how she had so casually disregarded Dick’s safety, and it had taken his lawyer the better part of an hour to talk him down. But talking to Ms. Elliot now was causing the rage to build again. “Who knows how badly Dick could have been hurt if Dr. Phillips hadn’t called security and sent those two guards out there!”

The thought of how Dick might have been trampled under that throng had scared Bruce so badly that he had gone to personally thank the two guards who’d helped Dick. The two men had been surprised at his gratitude, insisting that they were the ones who owed Bruce: it turned out both of them had children whose lives had been saved by the Wayne Foundation. The first guard, the one who had carried Dick to safety, had an eight-year-old boy who had received life-saving surgery for a heart condition, while the second guard’s teenage daughter had been able to get treatment for her leukemia. She was now in full remission.

“You saved our kids,” the first guard told Bruce. “The least we could do was help yours.”

It was too bad that Margaret Elliot didn’t view Bruce so favourably. Her expression was one of outright dislike as she spoke again. “Mr. Wayne, I have apologized and there is nothing I can do to change yesterday’s events. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“But how do I know that?” Bruce persisted. “You won’t tell me where Dick is. How do I know he’s safe?”

“Richard is with a good family, one of our best. They won’t disclose his presence to anyone and I ensured the media did not follow us from the hospital yesterday.”

“What about the other kids in the home? What if they talk?” 

“They won’t. They’re aware of the situation and have agreed to remain silent.”

“Little kids aren’t going to grasp how serious this is!”

“The other children in the home are all older than Richard, meaning they understand full well the consequences of what would happen if they said anything.”

“Older?!” Bruce exclaimed in alarm. He knew where older teenagers generally went in foster care. “Tell me you didn’t put him in a group home!”

She scowled. “As I’ve said already, Richard is with a good _family_. Trust me, he is perfectly safe.”

Bruce shook his head in despair. “You’re asking me to trust you with the most important person in the world to me when you’ve given me no indication that you _can_ be trusted.”

She looked a little taken aback. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wayne. I don’t know what else I can say to convince you.”

Bruce didn’t respond because there was nothing she could say. Instead he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He felt sick with worry. He’d hacked CPS’ files to find out where they had put Dick, but could find no record of his placement. And not knowing his son’s location was eating at Bruce. He was used to knowing exactly where Dick was at all times. Not knowing made him feel helpless and out of control, because how could he protect Dick if he didn’t know where he was?

“Ms. Elliot, what about supervised visits for Mr. Wayne?” Kevin Green spoke up. 

“Supervised visits are going to be a little tricky as Richard runs the risk of being recognized every time he steps outside the door of his foster home. However, Dr. Phillips wants to see him first thing Monday morning to monitor his progress, so I can arrange for Mr. Wayne to see Richard afterwards.”

Bruce’s head shot up and he stared at her, surprised at how quickly she’d agreed to a visit. Dr. Phillips had told Bruce that while Dick was technically well enough to have been released from the hospital, he would prefer to have kept him for a few more days, just to keep an eye on him. It had been Margaret Elliot who had insisted on Dick’s release and Dr. Phillips got the impression that she wanted to put some distance between Bruce and Dick. Bruce suspected it was because she was hoping that Dick would recant his earlier statement if he was out of Bruce’s reach. But the billionaire was afraid of outright accusing the social worker of such tactics because she could retaliate by claiming that he was trying to influence Dr. Phillips. And right now, Dr. Phillips was the best witness they had.

Margaret sighed. “Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Wayne. I’m not the enemy you believe me to be. I really am just concerned for Richard’s safety.”

Bruce ignored her comment. “Can’t I see him before Monday? That’s almost a week away.” His previous two visits on Saturday and Sunday had only been two hours each, and even though he’d visited Dick as Batman every night, it still hadn’t been enough. Bruce _missed_ his son. Moreover, he was worried about Dick’s emotional state – all of the boy’s confidence had vanished in the wake of this upheaval, leaving him scared and uncertain. 

“As I’ve said already, Mr. Wayne, Richard runs the risk of being recognized every time he steps outside the door of his foster home. However, I will try and arrange something for Saturday if I can organize a neutral location, one where Richard won’t be exposed to the press.”

Bruce didn’t argue that because he wanted to protect Dick from the press as well. “Okay. But if I see him on Saturday, will I still be able to see him on Monday?” 

“Yes. It makes sense for your visit to coincide with his hospital appointment as it reduces the time Richard has to spend outside of his foster home.”

“What about duration? Can I see him for longer than two hours?” 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible if I organize something for Saturday. CPS are closed at weekends with just a skeleton crew operating to deal with emergencies, so I can’t spare any more time than that. However, as I don’t have any court appearances on Monday, you and Richard may have four hours together.”

Bruce was flabbergasted. Where had this courtesy come from? Was she… _mellowing_ towards him? If she was then he certainly wasn’t going to jeopardize it by being rude. “Thank you, Ms. Elliot. I appreciate that.”

She nodded. “I understand your concern after yesterday, but I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Richard is with a good family and his location is known only to me and my supervisor. I haven’t even kept a record of it in our system. I promise, Mr. Wayne, we will keep Richard safe.”

Bruce was relieved that she seemed to be taking Dick’s safety seriously, but his heart sank to hear that Dick’s details hadn’t been inputted into the system: there was absolutely no way he could find Dick now. But on the bright side, it meant that no one else could either. “What time on Monday can I see Dick?”

“I will contact you when we arrive at the hospital and you can meet us as soon as Richard’s appointment is over. But I’m afraid I don’t have an estimate as to how long that will take.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll clear Monday and I’ll be in the city waiting for your call.” Bruce wasn’t missing even one second of the precious four hours he’d been allotted to spend with Dick, especially now that he couldn’t visit him as Batman.

“Good. Now, do either of you have any further questions?”

“I have one,” Kevin spoke up. “How long do you think it will take you to complete your investigation?”

“That depends on how long it takes to find everything I’m looking for.”

Bruce scowled. He’d almost been willing to believe she could be persuaded of his innocence until that comment.

“If you have no further questions,” she addressed them, getting to her feet, “then I really must go. I have quite a lot of work to get through today.”

Bruce and Kevin glanced at each other before shaking their heads. Margaret nodded. “Very well. Good day, gentlemen.”

She departed, the door swinging closed behind her while Bruce slumped, defeated, in his seat. “It feels like it’s taking forever to get this sorted. I still don’t see why the courts can’t let Dick come home now that the evidence proves I’m not hurting him.”

“The court system is a slow process,” Kevin pointed out.

“Bull!” Bruce replied bluntly. “It only took a weekend to get a court date to have Dick officially removed from my care.”

“That was different. An emergency hold can’t last any longer than ninety-six hours and courts are legally obliged to move swiftly in cases of emergency removals to prevent a child from being returned to a potentially abusive parent.”

“Oh sure, it was an emergency when they were taking my son from me, but now that it’s time to return him they can take their sweet time?” Bruce snapped bitterly, then checked himself. “Sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. I’m just frustrated.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Wayne. I understand.” Kevin’s eyes flicked towards the door before returning to Bruce. “You should be aware of something. Amanda has being doing a little checking into Margaret Elliot’s background. She was surprised by Ms. Elliot’s attitude towards you – apparently it’s not CPS policy to be so outright hostile. Did you know that Ms. Elliot spent a year as a social worker in Boston before moving to Gotham?”

Bruce shook his head. It hadn’t occurred to him to check the CPS agent’s background. He’d just assumed her hostility was a direct result of what she believed him to be guilty of. “Did Amanda find something?”

Kevin nodded. “One of Ms. Elliot’s first cases involved a twelve-year-old boy whose father was investigated for abuse after the school brought the boy to A&E for injuries that occurred on school property. The hospital found evidence of physical abuse and CPS were called. Like you, the man was a single parent who ran a large multi-national corporation with connections everywhere. He was also known for his charitable donations, which meant some people didn’t believe he was capable of abuse. And when the boy insisted that his father wasn’t abusing him, CPS dropped the case because the weight of the man’s connections made him impossible to prosecute. The boy was returned to him, and five months later he turned up dead – internal bleeding from a severe beating. Ms. Elliot moved to Gotham a month later.” He fixed Bruce with a serious look. “There are some uncanny similarities between that case and yours.”

Bruce was stunned. “She’s been biased against me from the start because of an old case?”

“It would seem so.”

“But surely she can’t be allowed to get away with this! Can we bring this to the court’s attention and have her removed as Dick’s social worker because of her bias?”

“That would push back the date of the dispositional hearing. We should only use this information as a last resort.”

“Last resort?” Bruce repeated sharply. “You mean if the judge rules against me at the hearing?”

“Yes. It’s unlikely that will happen given how the evidence supports your story, but it always pays to have a contingency plan. Especially since Ms. Elliot seems set on proving that you’ve been abusing Dick.”

Bruce groaned. The last thing he needed was Dick’s social worker trying to avenge a dead child, or right an old wrong, or whatever the hell she thought she was doing. “If it reaches that point then how long will this take to resolve?”

Kevin’s expression was grim. “Several months. Possibly even a year.”

oOo

Dick was miserable in the foster home.

Dinner the night before had highlighted just how much he didn’t fit in here, with Dana’s cheerful attempts at conversation doing nothing to hide the fact that Nate despised Dick. Meanwhile, Terry and Lyssa were still a little dazed by who he was and didn’t seem to know what to say to him – not that Lyssa would have said anything anyway. As for AJ and Greg, they seemed completely unconcerned by the whole thing, or possibly didn’t even notice. It was hard to tell because neither of them spoke much.

The awkwardness of the atmosphere had been further exacerbated by Dana stopping Dick from helping the other teenagers to clear away the remains of dinner. 

“Why doesn’t he have to help?” Nate had demanded at once. “He has a broken arm but his other one works just fine!”

Dana had explained about the brain injury and the doctor’s orders for Dick to rest, but Dick could see that they didn’t really get it. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. To a couple of kids used to harsh situations, Dick – with the exception of his arm and the bruising around his left temple – looked perfectly healthy. He was walking and talking, capable of feeding himself…what was the problem?

Things had only gotten worse when Nate discovered that Dick had a room to himself. “The rest of us have to share!” he’d pointed out furiously. “Why doesn’t he?”

“Lyssa doesn’t have to share either,” Dana had reminded him. “She’s by herself in the twin room. You’re in the triple with AJ and Terry, leaving no one to share with Dick in the other triple. If another boy moves in while Dick is with us, then Dick will have to share, same as the rest of you.”

But Nate refused to see her point. “He doesn’t have to go to school, he doesn’t have to do chores, and now he doesn’t have to share a room. What other favouritism can we expect for the little rich boy?”

At that point Dana had sent Nate to his room, following after him in order to talk to him. She’d come back downstairs after an hour, but Nate hadn’t appeared again for the rest of the night. And while the others didn’t show Dick the same outright dislike as Nate had, they pretty much left him to his own devices. 

Today hadn’t been much better. Still tiring easily, Dick had slept late, meaning the others had already left for school and Greg had gone to work, leaving Dana as Dick’s only companion. And while she was a lovely woman, she still had a house full of people to care for and a lot of work to do, leaving Dick with a great deal of time to himself. Time he couldn’t fill because of his injuries; he wasn’t allowed to do any physical activity, reading made him dizzy, and the television hurt his head after more than fifteen minutes of looking at the screen.

Dick was bored, lonely, and homesick. 

He spent most of the day wondering how Bruce and Alfred were, and seriously debated asking Dana if he could call Bruce for a chat before deciding against it. Aside from not wanting to get her in trouble with social services, Dick was afraid of doing anything that might jeopardize his chances of being reunited with Bruce.

Just before the others returned from school, he retired to the room he’d been assigned; Dick couldn’t bring himself to call it his room because his real bedroom was back at Wayne Manor. It wasn’t like Dick to avoid the people around him, but surrounded by hostility and wariness he was unsure how to relate to the other teenagers.

Lying on the bed, Dick heard the others come in, the noisy chatter of their voices floating up the stairs. It was followed by Dana greeting them, and then heavy footsteps as they came upstairs to do their homework. After that, silence descended, broken only by the occasional murmur of voices from the boys’ room across the hall. Curled in a ball on the bed, Dick could feel the corners of his mouth tugging downwards in misery. The longing for home was like a tangible thing that wrenched his heart and made every fibre of him cry out in pain. Dick didn’t understand what he and Bruce had done to deserve this. It wasn’t fair.

When Dana called them for dinner, he slowly pulled himself off the bed and listened to the other teenagers tramp down the stairs, talking loudly. After a minute, he reluctantly went downstairs as well, and tried to ignore their curious glances as he joined them at the table.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, when Dana put a plate in front of him. It was roast chicken and it smelled delicious, but Dick’s stomach was too twisted up in knots to enjoy it. He spent most of dinner trying to force a few forkfuls down his throat while pushing the rest around his plate. And he only spoke when someone – usually Dana – asked him a question.

The other teenagers seemed to be less thrown by his presence this evening and were talking animatedly, with the exception of the weirdly non-verbal Lyssa. Listening to their conversation, Dick discovered that Terry and Nate were hardcore football fans, and both played on the school football team. They had a big game coming up next week and were obsessively discussing plays. Nate, Dick noted, lost his perpetual scowl and actually looked happy as he talked about the game.

When dinner was over, Dick used the noise of clear-up to ask Dana if he could be excused. He saw her glance at his plate and a small crease appeared in her forehead, but instead of commenting on his barely touched meal, she nodded. “Of course, honey. You go right ahead.”

Dick slipped quietly out of the kitchen while the others were chattering noisily by the sink.

Back in the room, he threw himself on the bed again and stared at the ceiling. The last twenty-four hours had felt never-ending, and he still had two weeks of this ahead of him – longer if the courts ruled against Bruce! Dick didn’t know if he’d be able to stand another two weeks of this, not to talk of enduring it indefinitely. He was used to being busy, to being surrounded by people who cared about him, and this forced inactivity coupled with being in the home of strangers, most of whom were uncomfortable around him, just made him feel ill. 

If it weren’t for his physical limitations, Dick would have run away, back to Wayne Manor. But a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, coupled with a still-healing brain injury that left him feeling drained, would leave him vulnerable on the streets of Gotham. Even as Robin he wouldn’t be able to fight like this. Not to mention what would happen if anyone recognized him as Dick Grayson. The powerlessness of his situation was making him feel helpless and trapped.

A knock on the door sounded suddenly. “Uh…yes?” Dick called, sitting up.

The door opened and Dana entered, carrying a mug. “I brought you some hot chocolate. You didn’t eat much dinner.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the mug. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I did.” She sat into a chair by the huge desk. “I’m responsible for you while you’re here, Dick, and I’m concerned that you don’t seem to be eating. Do you not like the food or–”

“No,” Dick interrupted her hurriedly. “You’re a great cook, Dana, honest. I’m just not very hungry at the moment.”

“I see.” She studied him. “Is it because of your injury or because of what’s happening with social services?”

Dick shrugged, sipping his hot chocolate. “I don’t know…maybe both? I haven’t really felt hungry since I hurt my head, but my appetite also drops when I get stressed. Bruce and Alfred hate it,” he added, as an afterthought.

“I can imagine. What do they do to help you to eat?”

Dick bit his lip, unwilling to answer. What generally happened was that Alfred cooked his favourite foods, but there was no way Dick would let that happen here. He could only imagine how Nate would react.

“Dick, from what you’ve told me about them I’m sure they do something. Now, come on, honey, what is it?” 

“It doesn’t matter, it isn’t important.”

“It is important. Dick, you need to eat – even more so now that your body is trying to heal. And you’re so terribly pale… I’m worried.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make more of an effort to eat.”

Dana shook her head. “Honey, I don’t want you forcing yourself after you’ve been so ill. What if I were to cook your favourite foods, would that help?”

“No, that’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t,” said Dick quickly.

“Is it because you’re worried about what the other kids will say?”

Dick glanced down at his hot chocolate and didn’t answer.

She sighed. “Dick, that’s not a reason for me to not cook you things you’ll eat.”

His head jerked up. “Please, Dana, please! I don’t want to stand out anymore than I already do!”

She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, sweetie, alright. But you know, we don’t have to say I’m cooking it for you; I try out new dishes all the time. And what if something you love is something I cook often?”

“I don’t want you going to any trouble…”

She leaned forward and placed one hand on his. “Dick, honey, that’s not trouble. I’m a born mom. I _love_ looking after the kids in my care.”

The kindness in her eyes reminded him of his own mother and made something in his chest wobble. Dick swallowed and looked away.

“Come on, honey,” she coaxed. “The other kids don’t have to know, and it would be a weight off my shoulders to see you eating…”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I like pizza, but I’m not allowed it very often.” 

She patted his hand before withdrawing her own. “Pizza I can do. We always have pizza on a Friday night. What are your favourite toppings?”

“Um…so long as there’s mushrooms, I really don’t mind.” Dick took a large gulp of his hot chocolate to try and relax. Why was everything making him so tense and emotional lately? He was usually way more chilled than this.

“Not a problem. Everyone here loves mushrooms on their pizza. What else?”

“Lasagna?”

Dana smiled. “Believe it or not, that’s Nate’s favourite. That and meatloaf. He loves his red meat. What about you, hon? What’s your favourite dish?”

Crab-stuffed mushrooms, but Dick wasn’t going to say that because it absolutely wasn’t something Dana would make. That was an Alfred speciality.  
“I love salmon,” he said instead, settling on a seafood option because he was a sucker for seafood.

“My favourite,” she said, winking. “What else?”

“Ah…can we leave it at that?” Dick asked. He already felt like a jerk that Dana felt obliged to do this, and he would feel like a total spoiled brat if he continued listing meals for her to make.

“Okay, honey. Hopefully that will cover the not feeling hungry part, but we need to do something about the emotional stress as well.”

Dick shrugged. Short of being reunited with Bruce, there wasn’t really much they could do.

Dana seemed to understand the problem. “This situation isn’t hopeless, Dick. I’m going to talk to Margaret Elliot tomorrow about arranging a visit with Mr. Wayne, and I’m also going to talk to her about letting you go home. Some children get to stay with their parents until the dispositional hearing takes place.”

“She’d never let that happen. She thinks Bruce is hurting me.”

“I’ll talk to her about that.”

“What are you going to say?” Dick asked, tilting his head.

“That Mr. Wayne isn’t hurting you. That she’s hurting you more by keeping you away from him.”

Dick stared at her. “You believe me? That Bruce isn’t hurting me?”

“Yes, Dick, I do. I’ve lived with abused children for more than fifteen years and you bear none of the hallmarks. For starters, you trusted me too quickly. It takes weeks, sometimes months, for an abused child to even _consider_ trusting a stranger. And you talked about your home with such happiness… Most children who’ve lived with me don’t even want to mention their homes. You’re not angry, you’re not lashing out. All I can see is a lonely boy who misses his dad.”

Dick nodded miserably because he did, he missed Bruce so much that he ached inside.

“Oh, honey…” Dana murmured, standing up and moving over to sit beside him. She put her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. 

Dick scrunched his eyes shut and clenched his jaw to stop himself from crying. He didn’t understand why he was being so emotional! He was Robin the Boy Wonder, he was tougher than this…what was _wrong_ with him?!

“Sweetie, let it out if you need to,” Dana said quietly.

“I don’t want to,” Dick choked out. “I’m not a baby!”

“No. But you’re still only thirteen and you’ve just had a very difficult few weeks, not to mention a serious head injury. It’s a lot for anyone to take, honey.”

But Dick wasn’t giving into this. He was _stronger_ than this. Taking several shaky breaths, he forced himself to get a grip. When he was finally calm, he pulled back from Dana’s hold and spoke quietly. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”

She gave him a warm smile. “It’s my pleasure, honey.”

“Are you really going to talk to Ms. Elliot tomorrow?”

Dana nodded. “I can’t promise it’ll help, but I’ll do my very best.”

“Thank you,” he whispered gratefully.

She cupped his cheek. “You’re welcome, hon. Now, can you do something for me?”

Dick looked at her questioningly.

“If I were to bring you a small sandwich, would you try to eat it for me?”

“Okay.”

“Good boy.” She got to her feet. “Finish your hot chocolate and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Dick nodded and she left the room.

He sipped at the drink, staring into space while he thought about what Dana had promised to do. From what he’d seen of his social worker so far, he highly doubted that she’d let him return home before the hearing, but maybe Dana could convince her to at least let him _see_ Bruce.

“You make me sick, you know that?” said an angry voice suddenly, pulling Dick from his thoughts. 

He looked up to see Nate standing in the doorway and frowned. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Nate stepped into the room. “I want you to stop acting like a spoiled brat! Sulking and making Dana feel like she has to do all this extra work just to help you – cooking special dinners…” He snorted. “It’s pathetic!”

“That was a private conversation,” said Dick. “You had no right to listen in!”

“And you have no right to treat Dana like she’s your personal servant! But I suppose someone like you is used to ordering people around.”

“Someone like me?” Dick repeated, starting to get angry. “You don’t even know anything about me!”

“I know you’re some rich brat who’s whining about how hard he’s got it when you’ve probably never even seen what real pain is!”

Dick got to his feet quickly. “And I suppose you know all about pain?”

Nate took a step towards him. “I know more about it than you. But you don’t see me moping around crying and feeling sorry for myself!”

“No, you’re just a bully who takes his temper out on everyone around him!” Dick shot back.

Nate clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you _ever_ call me that!” he ground out dangerously.

Dick recognized the warning signs of someone about to go over the edge, but he didn’t care. After two weeks of having no control over his own life, he was relishing being able to fight back. “What, a bully? Why, does the truth hurt?”

Nate came closer to him and his voice was deadly quiet. “I am _not_ a bully.” 

Despite being the shortest of the other foster kids, Nate still towered over Dick by several inches, but Dick didn’t back down. “Really? You’re aggressive and angry, and you pick on others… That sounds a lot like a bully to me!”

It suddenly occurred to Dick that Nate might be one of those abused children that Dana had been talking about.

“ _I’m not a bully!_ ” Nate shoved Dick hard enough to knock him to the floor. The hot chocolate flew out of his hand and splashed across the carpet.

There was silence for a moment. Dick gazed up at Nate, who was staring at his outstretched hands. Slowly, the older boy’s face took on a look of horror.

“Shit…” he whispered and looked down at Dick. He opened his mouth to say something, and Dick got the impression that Nate was about to apologize when a sharp cry interrupted him.

They both turned to find Dana standing in the doorway, one hand over her mouth and a shocked expression on her face. A plate was clutched in her other hand. “Nate, _no_ ,” she whispered, before putting the plate on the desk and hurrying over to Dick. She knelt beside him. “Dick, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he replied, as she helped him to his feet.

“You’re sure?” she asked anxiously. “You didn’t hurt your arm or hit your head or anything like that?”

He shook his head.

Dana turned to face Nate. “Go to your room please, Nate,” she said quietly, disappointment in her voice. “I’ll be across to speak with you in a few minutes.”

Nate obeyed without saying a word.

She returned her attention to Dick. “Sweetheart, are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine, really. All he did was push me, and it was kind of my fault anyway.”

“Dick, if he pushed you then that doesn’t make it your fault.”

“But I called him a bully, and I _kept_ calling him a bully even after it upset him!” 

Dana shook her head. “Name calling is not an excuse for physical violence. Nate knows that better than anyone.”

So Nate _was_ an abused kid. Dick flushed with shame at his own behaviour. “I should have known better too…especially after you told me to walk away if Nate got angry.”

She sighed. “Okay, maybe you could have behaved a little better. But why did you call him a bully? And why was Nate in here in the first place?”

Dick shuffled awkwardly. “He sort of…overheard our conversation, and he wanted to tell me to stop treating you like a servant.”

“He– oh, for crying out loud!” Dana looked exasperated. “Dick, I promise, the last thing you are doing is treating me like a servant. And I’m going to have a very stern talk with Nate about his attitude towards you.”

“Dana, please, I don’t want him to get into any trouble. This was my fault too.”

She shook her head and gave him a sad smile. “You’re a sweet boy, Dick, you know that?”

He blushed.

She sighed again. “Alright, I won’t be too hard on Nate. But in future, Dick, you have to walk away if he gets mad. I know he’s giving you a hard time, but Nate struggles with new people and he _will_ soften towards you over the next few days once he sees that you’re not who he thinks you are. I saw it happen with Terry; the two of them couldn’t stand each other for the first two weeks and now they’re the best of friends.”

“He gave Terry a hard time?” asked Dick, surprised. From what he’d seen, Terry was the person Nate liked most in the house.

“Actually, he gave everyone a hard time for the first few days, but Terry got the worst of it. Nate…finds it hard to trust people.”

“He’s been abused, hasn’t he?” said Dick quietly. “That’s why he got so mad when I called him a bully.”

Looking very sad, Dana nodded. “Nate’s had it rough, that’s why he’s so angry all the time. But he really isn’t a bad kid.” She surveyed Dick. “He didn’t scare you, did he?”

Dick shook his head. “I think he scared himself more. He looked like he was about to apologize when you walked in.” 

“Really?”

“I’m not sure but…yeah, I think so.”

“Huh.” For some reason, Dana looked happier. “Okay, Dick, I need to go speak with Nate now, but I want you to eat your sandwich for me. And just leave that mess,” she added, waving at the slowly spreading chocolate stain. “I’ll scrub it out later.”

Dick nodded and she left the room.

Slowly, Dick sank onto the bed, staring vacantly at the far wall. What was going on with him? He’d goaded Nate even though he’d seen the warning signs. Dick _knew_ better than that. He wasn’t reckless or stupid, and he certainly wasn’t the dumb cry-baby he’d been for the last few days! Had the brain injury somehow altered his personality? Dick had read about such things in some of the papers on abnormal psychology that Batman sometimes made him read. He made a note to speak to Dr. Phillips about it on Monday. Maybe the doctor would know what to do to fix it. As to what Dick should do to fix the situation with Nate…

Dick sighed. He felt awful about calling Nate a bully now that he knew he’d been abused. From what he knew about abused kids, lashing out was one of their coping mechanisms. He needed to apologize to Nate. The older boy would probably laugh in his face, but at least Dick would feel better.

He wondered if he should go across and speak with him now, but immediately vetoed the idea. Dick stood a better chance of Nate actually listening to him if he had time to calm down. An apology might even help Nate to see that Dick wasn’t the spoiled brat he believed him to be! Dick sure hoped that something changed soon because he couldn’t take another two weeks of this antagonism. He was just too tired and too on edge to deal with it. For the millionth time since this whole nightmare had begun, Dick wished he was back home with Bruce. 

Where he belonged.


	14. Chapter 14

After another day of lounging listlessly around his foster home, Dick was ready to crack. He wasn’t used to being confined like this; both to one place and to being still. He would have asked Dana if they could go out for a while, just to ease the cabin fever, if the memory of his recent encounter with the media weren’t so fresh in his mind. Much as he hated to admit it, Dick was too scared to risk another run in with those vultures.

So he stayed in the house feeling bored, restless and homesick. It didn’t help that Dana had been unable to reach his social worker to talk to her about Bruce. Dick had watched Dana leave several messages asking Ms. Elliot to contact her, but so far the CPS agent hadn’t responded. And even though Dana had insisted that it was probably because Ms. Elliot was dealing with an emergency, Dick couldn’t help but feel that his social worker was doing it on purpose.

Dick was starting to really hate the woman because what was her _deal_ with Bruce? His guardian was the best and he didn’t deserve this crap! And neither did Dick. He sighed and kicked restlessly against the foot of the bed, all while glowering at the ceiling. His mood had shifted again today, and he was now more angry than sad at how powerless he was to control what was happening to him. Dick resented the hell out of Ms. Elliot, Gotham Social Services and the entire justice system for the way they were screwing up his life. 

“Stupid morons,” he muttered savagely, thumping his fist hard against the mattress. Why was it so hard to believe that Bruce wasn’t hurting him? Were CPS really so stupid that they believed a kid would want to go back to where someone was hurting him? And _these_ were the people charged with children’s welfare in this city? No wonder there were so many homeless kids in Gotham – CPS were idiots!

Dick’s internal tirade was interrupted by the front door opening and the sound of the other teenagers returning from school. Terry and Nate were talking at the tops of their voices and both sounded angry about something. Dick’s heart sank a little. He’d hoped to apologize to Nate this evening, but if Nate was mad, that would make him more difficult to approach. Maybe he should wait until he’d calmed down? 

Except Dick was really hoping an apology might help Nate to see that he wasn’t the spoiled brat Nate thought he was, and the longer Dick left it the harder it might be to change Nate’s attitude. Dick was stuck here for the next two weeks; he would like to at least get on with the other kids. Besides, his own actions were one of the few things left that he still had control over – if Dick wanted to apologize to someone then he would damn well go ahead and do it!

The other teenagers were now talking in the kitchen, Nate’s angry tones audible above the rest. After a few minutes Dick heard the soft murmur of Dana’s voice, followed by silence. The next thing he knew the others were coming upstairs.

Bolting upright, Dick swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He wanted to catch Nate before he entered the room he shared with the other boys. Stepping into the hall, Dick could hear Nate complaining loudly as they reached the top of the stairs. “…bullshit! What does failing one lousy class have to do with football? Pulling me off the team isn’t going to make me pass the stupid thing! Math isn’t even important; no one uses that crap!”

“You’re failing math?” said Dick, before he could stop himself. All four teenagers halted and stared at him. 

Dick cringed. “Sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing and–”

“You had no business listening in!” Nate snarled at him.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Dick protested. “But…maybe I can help?” This could be an opportunity to prove to _all_ of them that he wasn’t a brat.

“Yeah, right!” Nate sneered. “How could _you_ help me?” 

“I could tutor you,” Dick offered. “It’s no pass, no play, right? You need to get your grades up to get back on the team?”

“Actually, he needs to get a B minimum on a geometry test tomorrow so he can play in the game next week,” AJ spoke up, surprising Dick.

Nate turned on the older boy in outrage. “Why did you tell him that?!”

“He’s offering to help, man, and it’s not like any of us have the skills to tutor you.”

“He’s just a kid! How the hell is he supposed to tutor me?!” Nate demanded.

Dick scowled. “Actually, I’m thirteen and I take sophomore math.”

Nate snorted. “Big whoop.”

AJ nudged him. “Dude, hear him out. What have you got to lose?” 

“Ah, my dignity?” Nate countered.

Dick rolled his eyes because, seriously? Drama much? “Look, man, I don’t know what your issue is with me, but I’m offering my help. You can take or leave it.”

Nate just scowled, but AJ looked at Dick and asked seriously, “You really think you can help him?”

Dick shrugged his good shoulder. “Won’t know until I try. But math is kind of my thing so…yeah, probably.”

Nate crossed his arms. “Math is your thing. What are you, some kind of mathlete or something?”

“Yes, actually. Problem with that?” Dick was proud of being a mathlete, despite what other kids usually thought.

Nate opened his mouth, but this time Terry elbowed him. “Shut it, Nate! Just let him help, alright?”

To Dick’s surprise, Nate slumped and muttered out an, “alright, fine.”

AJ grinned at Terry before turning back to Dick. “Thanks, man. S’cool of you to do this.”

“You’re…welcome?” Dick replied, not quite sure what just happened. How the heck had Terry managed to get Nate to agree without even trying?

“You want to tutor him in your room or would you prefer to use ours?” AJ asked.

“His room!” Nate snapped at once. “I don’t need you two watching.”

AJ shrugged and gave him a lazy grin. “Your call, dude.”

Nate muttered something under his breath. Dick couldn’t exactly hear what, but he caught a syllable or two that gave him the gist of it and suppressed a grin. Alfred would be thrilled to know _those_ words had been uttered in his presence. 

Dick thought the butler’s attempts to shield him from swearing were kind of hilarious. Exactly what kind of speech did he think Dick was exposed to as Robin? The bad guys certainly didn’t use words like gosh and darn! Trying to ignore the curious stares of the other teenagers, Dick addressed Nate. “So…do you want to get started?”

The older boy shrugged sulkily. “Whatever.”

Dick resisted the urge to snap at him. He would have to suck it up until he changed Nate’s opinion of him. “Okay, come on,” he said, moving back into the bedroom. 

The older boy followed him in and threw himself into a chair by the desk, dropping his bag with a loud _thunk_. “No pass, no play,” Nate muttered to himself. “Dumbass rule.”

“It’s state law in Texas,” Dick informed him. 

Nate gawped at him. “You’re kidding!”

Dick shook his head, and Nate scowled. “It’s still a stupid rule! And math is stupid; _nobody_ uses it outside of school!”

As a mathlete Dick strongly disagreed, but wisely stayed quiet. Instead, he sat into the chair beside Nate. “What are you finding hard about geometry?”

“Who said I’m finding anything hard?” Nate demanded at once.

“You’re failing it,” Dick pointed out patiently. “That means you’re struggling with something. And I can’t help if I don’t know what it is.”

Nate seemed to wrestle with something before finally muttering, “I don’t understand it.”

“Which part?”

“What are you, retarded? All of it!”

“Then we’ll start with the basics,” Dick replied coolly. “But lose the ‘tude, alright, man? This will be a lot easier for us both if you’re not snapping at me every second.” Just because Dick was trying to get on Nate’s good side didn’t mean he had to be his whipping boy.

Nate started, blinked, and then shrugged. “Alright, _fine!_ Can we do this?”

He started pulling books out of his bag and Dick bit his lip before taking a deep breath and blurting out, “I owe you an apology…for last night.”

Nate paused in his task. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeated. “For calling you a bully. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Nate stared at him incredulously, mouth open slightly. “You…why…” He shook himself. “Whatever, man, let’s just get this over with.”

But his attitude towards Dick thawed a little after that.

oOo

Dick’s reward for helping Nate was a massive headache that forced him into bed before nine pm. He slept until eleven the next morning and even then he was still exhausted, spending most of the day on the living room couch. He understood now why Dr. Phillips had insisted on no physical exertion. But on the bright side, Nate had been considerably more civil towards him after his tutoring session, even giving Dick a muttered ‘thanks’ when they were finished. That little victory had helped to lift some of the awful anxiety that had been pressing on Dick ever since he’d arrived at the foster home.

Dick’s spirits had been further bolstered by his social worker finally returning Dana’s call that afternoon. The woman had informed Dana that Dick would be allowed to see Bruce the following day at twelve pm, and on Monday morning after his hospital appointment. She was still refusing to let Dick go home, but Dick had been expecting that so he hadn’t been _too_ disappointed.

Dana, however, had been very surprised by Ms. Elliot’s refusal to reunite Dick with Bruce, wondering if it had something to do with the fact that a toddler on Ms. Elliot’s watch list had been hospitalized with life-threatening injuries yesterday – explaining why the CPS agent had been out of contact. 

Dick doubted that was it. His social worker had been biased against Bruce from the start, and Dick was willing to bet it was because of something more. He didn’t know what, but it was definitely weird that Ms. Elliot was being so unreasonable about his case when Dana, who had known her for years, insisted that she was usually very fair. 

Maybe Ms. Elliot was in need of a vacation, Dick mused. From what he’d seen, it seemed like the woman worked seven days a week. And with the exception of Bruce, who was a law unto himself, Dick didn’t think that kind of work ethic was healthy. He wouldn’t have cared except that whatever was going on with Ms. Elliot was impacting on his life.

Dick rubbed tiredly at his temple: pain was starting to build behind it again. He wasn’t due any pain medication for at least another hour, but lying down had eased the terrible pain last night so maybe that would help? Grumbling to himself, Dick kicked off his sneakers and lay down on the couch to wait for the pain to pass. 

He was asleep in minutes, only waking at the sound of loud, excited voices. Blearily, his eyes focused on the clock on the mantelpiece. It was after four; that must be the others returning from school. Yawning, Dick slowly sat up, a blanket that someone – probably Dana – had tucked around him slipping off his shoulders.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and then Nate appeared in the living-room doorway. “Um…hi,” he muttered. 

“Hi,” Dick replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He still felt really tired…

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Dick quickly, swinging his feet onto the floor. “How did your test go?”

“I got an A,” Nate told him, in a voice that suggested he didn’t quite believe it.

Dick perked up. “Really? That’s great! That means you can play next week, right?”

Nate nodded and shuffled awkwardly. “I just wanted to say…thanks. I wouldn’t have passed the test without your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And…uh, I also sort of owe you an apology. I’ve been kind of a jerk so…sorry.” 

Dick gave a sigh of relief. _Finally!_ “It’s okay. You’re not the first person to call me a spoilt brat.”

“I’m not?”

“People expect me to be a brat because of who Bruce is.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

Dick shrugged and looked at his feet. “Not a lot I can do about it.”

“That’s really unfair,” Nate offered, and Dick glanced back at him, surprised. 

“That people judge you because of your background,” Nate filled in. “I mean, if anyone did it to me it’d be prejudice. But it’s okay to do it to you because you’re rich? I mean…I know I did it,” he continued, squirming. “But I was wrong. It– it was really cool of you to tutor me even though I’ve been such a jerk to you… I’ve never gotten an A in anything before.”

Dick stared at him, not sure where he was going with this. 

“Dana said you’re supposed to be taking it easy, because of your head. And that helping me has made you kind of sick today. Is that true?”

Dick didn’t know how to answer without making Nate feel bad, so he stayed quiet.

“I guess that’s a yes,” said Nate, looking unhappy. “Crap. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dick insisted quickly. “It was nice to be able to do _something_. I’ve been so bored since my head injury – it sucks not being able to do stuff.”

“Yeah, but still…sorry.”

“Forget it. Seriously.”

They stared at each other for a moment. “So, we cool?” Dick asked carefully.

Nate nodded. “Yeah. We’re cool.”

Dick gave him a wide grin. “That’s good ‘cause we’re gonna be living together for the next week or so and it’d be kind of awkward if we just kept fighting.”

“Next week or so, what happens after that?”

“I go home…I hope. Depends on how my hearing goes.” 

Nate frowned at him. “You _want_ to go home?”

“Of course.” Dick tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because…well…” Nate gestured at Dick’s arm.

Dick understood. “Bruce isn’t hurting me.”

Nate looked at him disbelievingly. “Then how’d you get that broken arm? And what happened to your head?”

“My arm was an accident; I fell on a caving trip. And my head was courtesy of a total idiot at school.” Dick scowled. He intended to make Ryan Johnson pay for the hell of the last two weeks once he returned to school. He didn’t know how yet, but he’d find a way. 

“So…the rich guy didn’t hurt you?” Nate said slowly.

Dick shook his head.

“But what about all that stuff they’re saying on TV?”

“Lies. All of it.”

“Come on, man,” said Nate sceptically. “The media can’t say shit that isn’t true. Isn’t that, like, slander or something? And why would CPS pull you out of there if there wasn’t something going on?”

“I don’t know what’s going on with CPS but Bruce would _never_ hurt me. As for the media…” Dick snorted in disgust. “They’re just running a witch-hunt against Bruce because of who he is. But he doesn’t deserve it, Nate, he really doesn’t.”

Nate sat on the other couch, opposite Dick. “You’re serious?”

Dick nodded. “Completely.”

“But I thought–” Nate stopped abruptly. 

“You thought what? C’mon, Nate, at this point I’ve pretty much heard everything.”

Nate fidgeted. “I always thought that rich people could get away with anything.”

Dick sighed. “Sometimes that’s true. Being rich does open doors for people. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t disadvantages as well.”

“Like what?”

“Reporters, for one thing. I know people think it’s not a big deal, but having paparazzi nosing into your life and following you around…” Dick grimaced. “It’s horrible. And what they say influences how people see you – no matter how untrue it is! Just look at what’s happening to Bruce; people are dragging his name through the mud. No one cares that he’s innocent. Not to mention that if I were any other kid, I’d be home by now. CPS wouldn’t be so focused on me if there wasn’t so much publicity around my case.”

“Okay, so the media thing sucks. But that’s one thing, man, other people have it way worse.”

“I know that,” Dick was quick to agree. “I’m not saying that rich people have it worse. I’m just saying that being rich doesn’t automatically make everything better. There are things that make being rich hard.”

Nate shook his head in disbelief. “What could make being rich hard?” 

“The people who try to hurt you. For money,” Dick answered softly.

“How could hurting some rich guy get anybody money?” 

Scepticism still coloured Nate’s tone and Dick sighed, knowing he would have to use the worst thing about having money to make Nate understand. “By kidnapping someone they care about and threatening to kill them if they don’t pay up.”

Nate looked taken aback before his expression shifted into uncomfortable. “I didn’t think of that,” he admitted.

“Most people don’t think of it because it’s not something they have to worry about,” Dick pointed out quietly.

“And were you ever– Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay.” Dick shrugged his good shoulder. “I’m the one who brought it up. And yeah, I was kidnapped last January.”

Nate stared at him wide-eyed. “What happened?”

“Got grabbed on a school trip. They used guns to force the school bus off the road and threatened to shoot the teachers who tried to help me.” His voice got quieter. “They locked me into this tiny freezer to make sure Bruce wouldn’t bring the police to the ransom drop. He had to give them the money before they told him where the freezer was.”

Dick couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of being forced into the freezer. He’d been trapped in there for almost two hours and had spent it wondering whether he would suffocate or freeze first.

“That’s twisted!” Nate exclaimed. Then he frowned. “I thought being locked in a freezer, you know, killed people?” 

“Eventually. But how long it takes depends on the size of the freezer and how cold it is.”

Nate goggled at him. “How’d you know that?”

“Looked it up afterwards.”

Nate gawped at him like he was insane. “You looked it _up?_ Why would you do that? If it were me I’d just want to forget about it!”

“It’s kind of hard to forget about it once you’ve been squashed into a freezer alongside bags of frozen peas.”

Nate stared. “You mean…it wasn’t one of those walk-in ones? It was an _actual_ freezer chest?!”

Dick nodded.

“That…that’s _sick!_ I mean, who– who does that kind of shit?” Nate looked as though he were struggling to get his head around it.

Dick knew how that felt. It had taken him days to get to grips with the fact that someone had been willing to kill him for money. 

“How long were you in there?” Nate asked, his eyes wide.

“Almost two hours,” Dick answered, beginning to get uncomfortable. Why was Nate so interested in this? 

“Two hours,” Nate mumbled to himself. “Fucking hell.” He shook his head. “I thought that shit only happened on TV!”

Dick shrugged, wondering how to change the subject. They’d gotten a little off the point he was trying to make and he didn’t understand why Nate looked so disturbed; surely as an abused kid he’d been through worse? 

Fortunately, Dana rapped on the doorframe at just that moment. She smiled at them, and Dick could tell she was pleased that he and Nate were talking. “Sorry to interrupt, but Greg just called; he’s coming home early so we’re going to have an early dinner. I thought it might be nice if we all watched a movie together afterwards. What do you boys think?”

“Sounds good,” Nate replied. “We’re still having pizza, right?”

“Of course, honey,” Dana assured him. “I’ve just phoned in the usual order. Would you mind helping Terry set the table? Lyssa is helping me with the garlic bread and salad.” 

“Sure,” he agreed, and got to his feet. Dana turned to Dick.

“Dick, sweetie, you need to take your pills – you slept through your last dose.”

“Okay,” said Dick, and jammed his feet into his sneakers. Alfred would kill him for the way he’d been manhandling his shoes but Dick still hadn’t mastered the art of tying laces one-handed.

“You go ahead, Nate,” said Dana. “Dick, let me help you with that. You’ll ruin your shoes.” 

Nate left the room, while Dana squatted down beside Dick and began unpicking his laces. “How’s your head feeling?” she asked.

“Fine. I think the nap helped.”

“I’m glad. It was very good of you to help Nate last night, but I don’t want you to strain yourself like that again, okay?”

“All I did was tutor him,” Dick protested.

“For _three_ hours,” she reminded him drily. “You’re recovering from a serious head injury, honey. You overdid it.”

“Sorry.”

She finished tying his laces and put a hand on his knee. “Don’t apologize, Dick. It was a kind gesture and Nate is really proud of that A. Just think of yourself a little next time, okay?”

“Um…I was sorta thinking about myself a little bit,” he confessed. “I thought that if I helped Nate maybe he’d stop thinking I was a spoiled brat.”

She gave a small laugh. “Well, it certainly worked. And I’m glad Nate’s stopped giving you a hard time.”

Dick smiled. “Me too.”

“I hope that means you feel a little better about things this evening?” 

Dick nodded. Not having that horrible antagonism between them made being here just that little bit easier. And he would get to see Bruce tomorrow! It wasn’t the same as being home but it was better than nothing. 

“Good.” She patted his knee and stood up. “Now, since things are a little better this evening, you think you can eat a full meal for me, honey?”

Dick’s stomach rumbled in answer to her question. He gave a sheepish grin while Dana laughed. “I guess there’s my answer! Come on, Dick, let’s get your pain meds for you.”

Dick followed her into the kitchen where Nate and Terry were arguing over movie choices instead of setting the table.

“…not like Denzel Washington?” Terry was saying.

“I never said I didn’t like Denzel Washington,” Nate retorted. “But _The Book of Eli_ still looks like a pile of crap!”

“Language, Nate,” Dana reprimanded mildly, removing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.

“Sorry.” 

Dick grinned. Considering how much Nate swore, he couldn’t help but wonder if Dana was fighting a losing battle there.

“Are you boys arguing about movies?” Dana enquired, handing Dick the water and his pills.

Terry nodded. “Yeah. Nate’s taste in movies sucks. He wants to watch _Iron Man 2_!”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Nate demanded. “It’s got Scarlett Johansson in skin-tight spandex!”

Dick nearly choked on his pills because that sounded _exactly_ like something Wally would say. “Sorry,” he wheezed, when the others looked at him. “Water went down the wrong way.”

“Boys, I hate to break it to you, but you’re wasting your time arguing,” Dana told them, taking the glass from Dick and bringing it over to the sink. “It’s AJ’s turn to pick the movie.”

“Aw, man! AJ’s taste in movies is even worse than Nate’s,” Terry complained.

“Still his turn,” Dana pointed out, moving over to where Lyssa was busy chopping vegetables and picking up a knife to help her. “Now, don’t you two have a table to set? And where’s AJ?”

“Here,” AJ answered, entering the kitchen via the back door. “I was just putting out the garbage.”

“Oh, thank you, honey,” said Dana, chopping some onions. “Did you bring the garbage cans back around?”

The muscular teenager nodded and started to wash his hands. 

“Hey, AJ,” Nate addressed him, opening the cutlery drawer. “Which movie do you want to watch tonight? _Iron Man 2_ or _The Book of Eli_? Your choice…”

“Nice of you to whittle it down for me,” AJ replied drily. “But I was thinking that maybe Dick could pick the movie since it’s his first week staying with us?”

Dick felt his face go warm as every head swivelled to where he was standing by the table. “Um…thanks, AJ, but that’s okay. You go ahead and pick.”

The older teenager shook his head and gave Dick an easy smile. “Pick the movie, man. Consider it a welcome-to-the-house sort of thing.”

“Yeah, and you like _Iron Man_ , right, Dick?” Nate put in at once.

Dick beamed. That was the first time Nate had actually called him by his name.

“No, I’d say he looks more like a Denzel Washington fan,” Terry countered quickly.

They both looked so serious…Dick couldn’t resist. “What if I’m a subtitles fan?”

Their mouths opened and they stared at him in utter horror. Dick burst out laughing. 

“Are you…messing with us?” Nate asked weakly.

Feeling better than he had all week, Dick grinned at him mischievously. “Maybe.”

“Dude…” Nate shook his head, pulling several glasses out of a cupboard. “Don’t _do_ that! I really thought you meant it.”

“Nate, not so many glasses at…once,” Dana finished with a sigh as two glasses tumbled out of his hands and shattered on the floor.

“Way to go, numbnuts!” Terry gruffawed. 

“Sorry!” Nate cried, quickly putting the other glasses on the table.

“It’s okay,” said Dana, putting down the knife and moving over to Nate. “AJ, would you get the dustpan and brush, please? Nate, don’t cut yourself,” she added, when he bent down to pick up the larger pieces of glass.

“I’m really sorry, Dana,” Nate muttered, as she knelt beside him.

“It’s fine, honey,” she said soothingly. “It was an accident. But next time, try taking fewer glasses out of the cupboard, okay?”

He nodded just as the doorbell went off.

Dana glanced towards the hall, surprised. “The pizza’s here already? That was fast. Lyssa, my purse is on the counter. Will you take care of it, please?”

Looking extremely grumpy, the girl stopped washing lettuce and wiped her hands on her jeans, before picking up Dana’s purse and heading into the hall. “You don’t have to talk to him but at least give him a smile to say thanks!” Dana called after her. “Oh, thanks, honey,” she said to AJ as he reappeared with the dustpan and brush.

Dana and Nate stood up to let AJ sweep up the broken bits of glass, Nate holding the larger chunks of glass he’d picked up.

“Nate, put those in the bin before you cut yourself,” instructed Dana. 

Nate quickly complied. Dusting his hands off, he turned around and promptly froze, a look of shock on his face as he stared at something behind Dick and the others.

“Nate, what’s…?” Dana’s voice trailed off into a gasp as she, Dick, and the two other boys turned to see what Nate was staring at.

Four armed men wearing balaclavas stood there. 

One of them had his hand on Lyssa’s shoulder and he shoved the trembling girl towards them. “Nobody move and nobody do anything stupid,” he warned. 

“W-what do you want?” asked Dana in a shaky voice. “Money? We don’t have anything of value in the house…”

“Lady, we both know that’s not true.” The man shifted his eyes towards Dick, who felt his stomach plummet. “Over here, rich boy.”

“What? No!” Dana cried, stepping in front of Dick. 

The man scowled. “No one needs to get hurt. But if you get in our way…” He pointed his gun at her. “…I will kill you.”

“ _No!_ ” Dick yelled, flinging himself in front of Dana, his good arm held wide. “Don’t shoot her!”

“Then get over here now!” the man barked.

“Dick, no!” Dana grabbed him as he took a step forward.

Dick looked up at her. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “They…they just want money. They won’t hurt me.” _I hope._ The memory of the freezer was fresh in his head after that talk with Nate.

One of the men laughed. “Looks like the brat already knows the score.”

Dana looked like she was about to cry. “Please don’t do this,” she begged the men, tightening her arms around Dick.

“Lady, don’t try my fucking patience!” the first man barked, cocking the hammer of the gun he had pointing at Dana.

“NO!” Dick wrenched himself out of Dana’s grip. “I have to,” he told her, walking towards the men. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Smart boy!” sneered the man, seizing Dick’s arm and practically flinging him towards the other men. “You know what to do,” he directed at them.

The men immediately closed in around Dick. One of them untied his sling and pulled it off, before yanking his arms roughly to bring his wrists together. Dick couldn’t hold back a small cry as sharp pain shuddered down his broken arm. The man ignored him while another man started to bind his wrists tightly with cord.

“Stop it!” cried Dana in anguish. “You’re hurting him!”

“Lady, shut your yap before I do it for you!” the one who had been doing all the talking growled. “Now, listen up. You’re gonna pass a message on.”

“M-message?” Dana repeated, watching the men bind Dick’s wrists. His broken arm was spasming painfully from the position they had pulled it into, but Dick clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out. He didn’t want to upset Dana any more than she already was.

“You tell Wayne fifty million dollars if he wants to see his kid alive again. Tell him no cops and we want the money by tomorrow. Capiche?”

White-faced, Dana nodded. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s just a boy.”

“We won’t need to hurt him so long as Wayne delivers. Now, what’s the message again?”

“It was…you wanted fifty million and you…oh…” Dana put a hand over her mouth as she started to cry. “I– I’m sorry. I can’t…r-remember!”

“Lady–”

“You want fifty million,” AJ interjected calmly, stepping up beside Dana and putting an arm around her shoulders, “by tomorrow. And Mr. Wayne isn’t to call the cops.”

“Make sure you tell him he won’t see his kid alive again if he doesn’t deliver,” the man reminded him. “Tell him we’ll call at five pm tomorrow to arrange a trade.”

Suddenly, one of the men seized Dick from behind and a rag was pressed over his nose and mouth. The sickly smell of chloroform choked him and the skin around his mouth started to burn. Reflexively, Dick tried to roll his head away but the hand holding the rag tightened its grip. 

Dick tried not to panic. These guys must be new to this if they were using something as old school as chloroform, which meant they probably had no clue as to the dangers of the chemical. His first instinct was to hold his breath and fake unconsciousness, until he realized that he was too tense with pain to go limp. He wouldn’t be able to fool them so he would have to try and minimize his exposure to the chloroform by losing consciousness as fast as possible…something that took longer than the movies suggested.

Reluctantly, Dick breathed in and coughed a little as the chloroform started to burn his nasal passages. His limbs went numb almost immediately.

“Put him in the van,” the man who seemed to be in charge ordered. “I’ll wait here while you load him up just to make sure everyone stays put until we leave.”

Dick’s head rocked dizzily when two of the men snatched him up, and the last thing he saw before he was carried out was Nate’s horrified face.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some very strong language in this chapter, guys. Thanks to everyone for the kudos and comments. :)

Nate didn’t really have too clear a picture of what happened after the kidnappers took off with Dick. He remembered Dana rushing to the phone and calling Dick’s social worker, and he was pretty clear on Greg walking in and demanding to know why the front door was wide open, but after that it all got a little fuzzy. There was a vague memory of a hysterical Dana refusing to let Greg call the police in case those men killed Dick, and Nate knew he himself had freaked out when it hit him that the younger boy might _actually_ be murdered by those men, but then everything dissolved into a blur of noise and images.

Nate had never considered himself the type of person who went into shock, which was why he struggled to understand how he suddenly came to be sitting in one of the chairs by the stove with a blanket around him, while Terry and Dana crouched in front of him. And… Nate blinked. The kitchen was suddenly a lot more crowded; where the hell had all these people come from?!

Two of the new arrivals, a woman with greying hair and a man that Nate recognized from the TV as the police commissioner, were arguing furiously. “What do you mean you called Mr. Wayne?!” the woman cried. “I gave no authorisation for that to happen!”

“You can’t be serious!” the commissioner snapped back. “His son’s been kidnapped! Aside from the fact that he deserves to know what’s going on, Mr. Wayne is the person these men are demanding the money from. He’s on his way here right now because we need him to save Dick’s _life!_ Unless Gotham CPS has a spare fifty million they don’t need?” he finished sarcastically, and the woman flushed.

Nate’s brain struggled to process the sudden appearance of extra people. There was a police officer sitting at the table with AJ and Lyssa, while another officer stood in the corner talking to Greg. A third police officer was actually dusting the knob on the kitchen door for prints. Where had they all come from? And weren’t they _not_ supposed to be here?

“I thought we weren’t supposed to call the police?” he said shakily to Dana and Terry. 

“Oh, thank god!” cried Dana, grasping his hand. “Nate, sweetie, are you alright?”

Nate shivered. Shit, he felt cold. “I…what happened?”

“You zoned out,” Terry answered, staring at him. “Like, full-on shutdown, man. You weren’t moving or talking…it was like you couldn’t even _see_ us!” 

Terry looked freaked and Nate blinked. Had he really checked out like that? “Who– who called the police?” he asked.

“Dick’s social worker did, right after I called her,” Dana replied. She was white-faced and shaking.

“But…what about Dick? They said not to call the police.”

Dana shrugged helplessly, looking as though she might cry again.

Nate glanced to where the commissioner was still arguing with the grey-haired woman. “Is that Dick’s social worker?”

Dana nodded.

“Why did she call the police?” demanded Nate, starting to get angry. “They said not to call the police!”

“It wasn’t her fault, honey,” said Dana. “It was m-mine. I forgot to tell her…She d-didn’t know.” Dana gulped and broke down, burying her face in her hands.

It hurt Nate to see the first person in his life who had shown him real kindness so upset. And, oh god! This was all his fault!

“COMMISSIONER!” a loud shout came from the hall just before a well-built, dark-haired man burst into the kitchen. “Jim,” he addressed the police commissioner frantically, “how the hell did this happen?!” 

Nate’s jaw dropped and he heard Terry suck in a breath because holy shit! That was freaking Bruce Wayne himself standing there!

The police commissioner shook his head. “We don’t know yet, Mr. Wayne.”

“But how did they know Dick was _here?_ ” the billionaire moaned.

Nate swallowed. He saw this guy on TV all the time, and he always looked suave, kind of like James Bond or something. But right now, he just looked haggard and exhausted, as if he were barely hanging on by a thread.

“I can’t answer that, Mr. Wayne,” the commissioner replied. “Ms. Elliot here assures me that–”

“You!” the billionaire hissed, his eyes going to the grey-haired woman. “This is all your fault! You promised you would keep him _safe!_ ”

The woman stiffened. “Mr. Wayne, I assure you, my office had nothing to do with this–”

“ _Nothing to do with this?!_ ” Bruce Wayne snarled at her. “CPS forcibly removed Dick from his home, where he was safe and cared for! Since you’ve had him, he’s been harassed and assaulted by the media, left all alone in the hospital with a serious head injury, and now _this!_ Kidnapped from the house where he was supposed to be safe! YOU _are_ to blame for this!”

Whoa. Nate gulped as the social worker took a step back from the billionaire. The man was radiating rage the likes of which Nate hadn’t seen before. The media portrayed Bruce Wayne as some kind of playboy idiot, but that man standing there was anything but. Nate’s past meant he had a finely tuned instinct for spotting threats, and Bruce Wayne…Bruce Wayne was _dangerous._

“Easy, Mr. Wayne,” said the police commissioner, looking somewhat unsettled as he came between the billionaire and the social worker. “Ms. Elliot didn’t intend for any of this to happen.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” the man snapped. “Jim, you know what happened to Dick last January; his kidnappers nearly killed him! And that was when he was at full health! Christ, what’s going to happen to him when he’s vulnerable…”

Nate squirmed as the billionaire ran a hand through his hair, anguish and fear written all over his face. Fuck, this guy really _cared_ about Dick!

“Mr. Wayne,” the commissioner began soothingly, “I promise, we will do everything we can to find Dick. I have officers out right now canvassing the neighbourhood to see if anyone saw anything and–”

“No!” Dana cried suddenly, scrambling to her feet. “Commissioner, you can’t get involved! They said no police!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Foster, kidnappers always say–”

“Wait! They said no police?” Bruce Wayne interrupted, stricken. “Then who called you?”

“I did,” Ms. Elliot admitted after a moment’s silence.

The billionaire’s eyes popped in fury. “YOU?!! Why would–”

“It’s not her fault!” Dana interjected quickly, coming towards them. “I never told her what those men said when I called to tell her about Dick. I was…I just forgot and I…I…” She started to cry again, and Greg moved to put his arms around her. “I’m s-so s-sorry, Mr. Wayne!” Dana sobbed. “T-this is my f-fault…it h-happened in my care! I s-should have done s-something and…and…” She choked and wiped her eyes.

The billionaire looked taken aback. “Mrs…Foster? It’s alright. I don’t blame you.”

Dana’s lips were quivering. “But I was…I was right _there!_ I just let them t-take him…” 

More tears started to spill down her face and her distress tore at something inside of Nate. He couldn’t bear to see her in pain, and he could only imagine the hurt he would cause if she knew he was responsible for all this. Maybe he should stay quiet…

Bruce Wayne swallowed and shook his head. “They were armed. You couldn’t have stopped them.”

“I f-feel responsible,” Dana sniffed. “Dick…he’s such a good boy, Mr. Wayne…”

“I know he is,” the billionaire replied miserably. 

Nate looked away. It was disconcerting to see this guy from TV as an actual person, to see him hurting like everybody else.

“Commissioner?” a new voice interjected, and Nate glanced back to see a fourth police officer, a woman, standing in the doorway.

“Montoya,” said the commissioner at once. “Do you have something?”

“Maybe. One of the neighbours was out walking her dog and she saw a white van parked outside this house around the time the kid was abducted.”

“Did she get a license plate?” asked the commissioner sharply.

The officer shook her head. “It was too dark. The only reason she remembers the van is because her dog peed on it.”

“A white van?” Greg spoke up, frowning. “A white van cut me off about a mile from here when I was driving home! I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it did come from this general direction…”

The commissioner focused on him. “How soon did you get back here after those men left?” 

“About five minutes,” Greg replied.

“That fits the time frame. Alright, Mr. Foster, I want you to explain to Officer Montoya here exactly where you saw that van, and any details you can remember about the van itself. Montoya, when he’s done, I want you to take a few officers and start checking the traffic cams in the area where Mr. Foster saw that van.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Foster, would you come with me, please?”

As the officer guided Greg out of the room, the police commissioner turned back to the other adults and addressed them seriously. “Without assigning any blame, we need to find out how those men knew that Dick was here. Ms. Elliot, how certain are you that you and your supervisor were the only CPS workers who knew where Dick was?”

“One hundred percent certain,” she answered firmly. “Richard’s case is unusual, and after what happened outside the hospital, we both felt that the fewer people who knew his location the safer he would be. I didn’t even keep a record of Richard’s placement in his file or in the system.”

“And do you trust your supervisor?” the commissioner wanted to know.

The woman looked insulted. “Absolutely! I’ve been working with Mr. Nichols for almost twenty years and his character is beyond reproach, I can assure you of that.”

“Be that as it may, we’re still going to have to investigate everyone who knew Dick’s location,” the commissioner explained carefully. “Those men knew he was here and we need to find out how.”

The social worker turned to Dana who, although still shaking, had stopped crying. “Dana, I know you and Greg would never say anything, but what about the children?” 

Nate was aware of Terry, AJ and Lyssa stiffening immediately at the accusation, but Dana spoke before any of them could object. “They had nothing to do with this. I talked with them the evening Dick arrived and they all promised not to say anything. They’re good kids and I trust them.”

Dana’s trust weighed heavily on Nate. No one had ever trusted him before. For as long as he could remember, people had always assumed the worst of him. Even in the other foster homes and detention centres, people had thought him a liar and a bad-tempered thug. Dana and Greg were the first people to really give him a chance, to give him a home.

He looked at Bruce Wayne and gulped; the billionaire’s face was marred with misery and stress. This man was going through hell because of him. His son had been _kidnapped_ because of him. 

And then there was Dick. The younger boy was being held prisoner by a bunch of armed men because Nate had done what people had been doing to _him_ his whole life; he’d judged Dick without knowing a single thing about him. Nate had written him off as a spoiled rich kid who had everything easy and treated people like crap. And he’d never been more wrong about anyone in his life. Dick was a nice kid who’d made himself sick helping Nate, even after Nate had been such a jerk to him. Nor had he hesitated to throw himself in front of Dana when that man had threatened to shoot her. In fact, Dick had turned himself over to those men so they wouldn’t hurt anyone…even after what had happened to him last January! 

Nate shuddered. What if these guys did something like that to him now? Because the rich guy was right; Dick _was_ vulnerable. Nate had been surprised by how something as simple as just tutoring him had exhausted Dick. And those guys hadn’t exactly been gentle… Nate’s eyes went to where the men had thrown Dick’s sling on the floor. It was gone – the police must have taken it away – but Nate still remembered how the kidnappers had just flung it there, how they’d pulled Dick’s broken arm to tie him up. They didn’t care that they were hurting him.

Nate looked over at where the adults were still arguing about how the men could have known Dick was here, and bit his lip. An innocent kid might get hurt – maybe killed – and it was all his fault. Nate couldn’t not say something… 

Shakily, he got to his feet, the blanket around his shoulders dropping to the floor. “Dana?” he called, wincing when he realized how scared he sounded.

The adults stopped arguing and looked over at him. “What is it, honey?” asked Dana.

“I– I think…” He swallowed hard. “I think I know how those men knew Dick was here.”

Dana’s eyes widened and Nate looked at the floor. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face. “I…I told some of the guys at school yesterday that Dick was staying with us.”

“Nate…” Dana whispered. “ _Why?_ ”

Shame washed over him and Nate felt a lump in his throat. He couldn’t look up. “I was angry at Dick after our fight. And then Mrs. Summers said I couldn’t play on the team unless I passed the stupid test and– and… I was just venting to the guys and it sort of slipped out.” He finally looked up at Dana and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You risked Dick’s life because of a _fight?_ ” Bruce Wayne interjected furiously before Dana could respond. 

Nate cowered beneath the man’s glare. “I didn’t…I didn’t know this would happen. I was angry and stupid and a jerk. I’m really sorry, Mr. Wayne.”

“Christ!” the billionaire groaned. Then his anger shifted from Nate to Ms. Elliot. “I told you, I _told_ you this would happen!”

“We’re not playing the blame game,” the commissioner intervened as the woman opened her mouth to argue. “It doesn’t help Dick.” He turned to Nate and addressed him sternly. “As for you, you’re going to sit down with me right now and give me the names of every single student you told about Dick, and their friend’s names as well.”

Nate nodded miserably.

The commissioner pointed to the table. “Sit.”

Nate complied, wincing when he saw how Terry and the others were staring at him. None of them would want him now. He was going to be moved to another foster home after this and he’d actually been happy here for the first time in his life.

The angry-looking police commissioner sat across the table from him, while Dana sat beside him and took his hand. Nate glanced at her, surprised.

“I know you feel bad, honey,” she said quietly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for having the courage to tell the truth.”

“Really?” Nate whispered, his eyes burning suspiciously.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Really.”

“Alright, son,” said the police commissioner in a hard voice, “I want those names.”

oOo

Nausea rocked Dick as he was dragged back to consciousness. He could feel bile churning in his gut before it surged upwards. He was going to…

“Urgg!” he choked, rolling his head sideways to spew across whatever he was lying on. He couldn’t get up.

“What the fuck!” a loud voice yelled. 

“Keep it down!” a second voice hissed.

Dick stopped retching, then tried to squirm away from the smell. He felt so weak…

Someone pulled him upright and shook him hard, sending shockwaves of pain down his broken arm. “What is wrong with you, you little fucker! Why won’t you stay out?!”

A rag was held over his face and the pungent smell of chloroform made his stomach turn. Dick gagged and the hands immediately dropped him. He bounced against something soft before heaving sideways again.

“Urggh! That is fucking disgusting!” the loud voice complained. “I’m not cleaning it up.”

“Will you shut up?!” the second voice hissed again. 

Dick finished getting sick, then lay there, gasping. His head was thumping and it felt like his brain was spinning in his skull. He was wearing a blindfold. Why was he wearing a blindfold? What was going on?

Images filtered slowly back to him. Kidnapped. He’d been kidnapped. 

Somewhere on the periphery of his memory, Dick could recall being suffocated with a sweet smelling cloth, over and over. Then he realized that the men had been dosing him with chloroform every time he woke up. This was the first time they’d allowed him to become coherent – probably because they’d had no choice once he started getting sick.

The rag was shoved in his face again. Dick rolled his head into the something soft he was lying on – a bed? – and managed to gasp out, “Stop! You’re gonna…kill me!”

There was silence for a moment and the rag was withdrawn.

“What are you talking about?” the second voice demanded, as Dick’s head reeled.

“C’mon man, the kid’s talkin’ shit. Just ignore him and put him out again,” a third, nasally voice argued.

“Shut. Up.” the second voice ground out, and Dick recognized it as belonging to the man who’d been doing all the talking at the foster home. “Alright, brat. You have one minute to explain.”

Dick swallowed, trying to ignore the pain lighting up his head and shivering down his arm. “Chloroform…can kill people. S’why it’s not used as an…anaesthetic anymore. And it won’t keep someone unconscious for long. That’s why I keep waking up.”

The man grabbed his hair. “Do you think we’re stupid enough to believe that?”

Dick shook his still-swimming head and regretted it immediately when nausea threatened to erupt again. “I’m not lying. Me throwing up…that’s a symptom of chloroform poisoning.”

Silence fell again and the man let go of Dick’s hair. He closed his eyes and rolled his head to the side, breathing deeply to try and ease the pain. God, he felt so ill…

“What the fuck do we do now?” the loud voice broke the silence. “We can’t leave him conscious. What if he hears something that can ID us? What if he tries to _escape?_ ”

“Man, look at him,” argued the man with the nasally voice, and Dick thought he sounded a little nervous. “He’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“And what about ID’ing us?” Loud Voice retorted. “You wanna take that chance? Anyway, the little fucker’s probably lying ‘bout the chloroform. Just knock him out!”

“Shut up and lemme think!” the guy who seemed to be in charge growled. 

Dick tried to gather his thoughts. There were three of them here. Where were the other two? There’d been four at the house, plus he’d heard a driver in the van before he’d passed out. And where was here? Somebody’s house? Because he was definitely lying on a bed. The smell of vomit wafted towards him and Dick grimaced, trying to wriggle away from where he’d been sick.

“I don’t think so!” snapped the boss, and seized Dick’s arms, pulling him upright and making him writhe with pain as the nerves of his injured arm twanged excruciatingly. “You think you can make a break for it?” he demanded.

Dick shook his head. “It’s the smell…”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you hadn’t puked in the first place it wouldn’t be a problem!” Loud Voice sneered. “We should rub your face in it just to teach you a lesson–”

“Quiet!” Boss Man snapped at him. “You’re too loud, you know that? Shut it before anyone hears you.”

Dick stiffened. Before anyone hears him? They were somewhere people could hear them? He needed to make use of that while he still had the chance. He jerked out of the man’s grip and brought his legs up to kick him hard. Dick heard a muttered “Omph!” as he threw himself off the bed, stumbling dizzily when his feet hit the floor while yelling at the top of his voice. “HELP! HELP ME! SOMEONE HE– mmmph!”

He was silenced by a hand slapping over his mouth as someone grabbed him from behind and lifted him off of his feet. Dick struggled and kicked as best he could while the world tilted crazily around him. Pain was splitting his skull in two and his legs kept crashing into things as he kicked. If he could just make enough noise for someone to hear him… Biting down hard on the hand clamped across his mouth, Dick yanked his aching head free while the man holding him screeched in pain.

“Argggh! Little shit–”

“HELP!” Dick shouted again. “CALL THE POLICE!”

“Shut him up! Shut him up!” Boss Man cried, while Dick continued to thrash.

“ _HELP!_ HE– mmmmmmph!” 

The hand was clamped across his mouth again. Another set of hands grabbed him and Dick was forced to the floor. He hoped that had been enough for someone to hear him, for someone to call the police. Because he would be dead before the ransom call if those men kept dosing him with chloroform. 

“Jesus Christ!” Loud Voice panted in Dick’s ear. “Fuck! What if someone heard him?!”

“Turn on the TV!” Boss Man ordered. “Find a cop show or something. If someone comes knocking, you two take the kid into the bathroom and keep him quiet. I’ll deal with it. And you!” A hand seized Dick’s hair and yanked his head savagely. “Try a stunt like that again and I’ll break your other arm! Understand?”

Agony ricocheting through his head and arm, Dick nodded. He could hardly breathe beneath Loud Voice’s weight. The sound of a TV blaring to life made him jerk before the volume was lowered.

“Shit, man, what do we do?” Loud Voice demanded urgently over the noise of the TV. “We can’t leave him conscious, what if he pulls that shit again?”

“Will you shut up and lemme _think!_ ” Boss Man snapped. “And _you_ , clean up the mess he made before anyone comes knocking.”

“What? But there’s puke everywhere!” Nasal Voice complained. 

“You don’t have to touch it, you idiot. Just strip the sheets and throw them in the tub. And pick up that crap the kid knocked over! We don’t want anyone wondering what happened in here.”

Dick heard Nasal Voice muttering. From the sound of the man moving about the room, Dick could tell that it wasn’t very large. Based on that and the fact that people could hear them, Dick guessed this was a motel or something similar. It was a weird place to stash him and made him wonder how new these men were to this. They didn’t exactly seem in control of the situation…

“We should use the chloroform again,” Loud Voice said. “I think the brat’s lying about it killing people.”

“No,” Boss Man replied, much to Dick’s relief. “You saw the way he was puking – we can’t take the chance that he was telling the truth.”

“Then how do we keep him quiet?” Loud Voice demanded, his hand tightening painfully around Dick’s mouth. Dick wished he would get off of him; the man’s weight was pressing his broken arm into the floor and it _hurt._

“Easy. We gag him.”

“With what?” Loud Voice demanded. “We only brought the chloroform! C’mon, man, let’s just knock him out again.”

“We’re not knocking him out! We need him alive, jackass.” 

“Then how do we keep him quiet?”

“I’ve got my work crap with me, just let me check it, alright?!” Boss Man snapped irritably.

With a jolt, Dick realized that they were nervous. His suspicions were correct, they _hadn’t_ done this before. These men hadn’t a clue what they were doing!

He didn’t know whether that discovery made him feel better or worse.

The sound of rummaging rattled just above Dick’s head, followed by a triumphant snort. “Got something.”

“Is that a sock?” Loud Voice demanded. “What the hell is that gonna do?”

“You’ll see,” the leader replied. “Move your hand.”

The hand around Dick’s mouth disappeared and something woollen was shoved into it. 

“Ngggh!” he protested, trying to pull away, but Loud Voice pressed down on him to keep him still while the other man finished stuffing the sock in his mouth.

Dick tried to spit it back out, but someone clamped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, kid,” Boss Man told him, “but we can’t have you making any more noise.”

There was a light clinking, followed by a snort of laughter from Loud Voice. “A belt? Are you for real?”

“Shut up!” Boss Man snapped, as stiff leather was wound around Dick’s mouth and head to keep the sock in place. 

He gagged a little as he was forced to tongue the sock to keep it away from the back of his throat, and shook his head desperately. “Pmmmmmm!”

“Now, now,” said Loud Voice, forcing Dick’s head to be still so the other man could finish what he was doing. “It’s this or the chloroform.”

The chink of a buckle sounded by Dick’s ear, followed by the satisfied voice of Boss Man. “There. That’ll keep him quiet.”

Just then, a knock sounded. “Management! Open up! I’ve had a complaint about this room,” a grumpy-sounding male voice yelled.

“Quick!” Boss Man hissed, and before Dick knew what was happening, Loud Voice’s hand was back over his gagged mouth and he was being hauled to his feet. 

“Coming!” Boss Man called, as a second set of hands grabbed Dick’s legs. 

Dick struggled wildly as the other two men carried him into what was presumably the bathroom. His legs were released and Dick heard a door close, followed by a lock clicking into place. Still struggling, he was forced facedown onto a cold, tiled floor where Loud Voice lay on top of him again, pushing all of his weight down on Dick and literally crushing him against the bathroom floor. Barely able to breathe, Dick whimpered. He couldn’t help it; every nerve in his arm and shoulder were screaming out in pain from the awkward angle the pressure was forcing them into.

“…someone was yelling for help,” came a grumpy male voice on the other side of the door. 

“It was the TV,” the muffled voice of Boss Man explained. “I’m sorry we disturbed people, we’ll keep it down.”

“You’d better– hey! Where’s the covers from that bed?!”

“I’m afraid my buddy ate a bad burrito or something on the road – he had a bit of an accident. We put the covers and stuff soaking in the tub to wash it off, but we’ll pay if it doesn’t come out.”

Practically suffocating beneath Loud Voice’s weight, Dick tried to scream through the make-shift gag and Loud Voice’s hand. Help was right outside that door if only the man could hear him!

But his muffled cries were silenced by Loud Voice seizing his throat with his other hand and pressing hard against it. Immediately, Dick gagged and choked, unable to make a sound. Pinned beneath Loud Voice, he couldn’t move so he scrabbled his sneakers against the floor instead, making them squeak on the tiles.

 _Help me, please help me!_ Dick thought frantically. He was beginning to fear that the inexperience of these men would end up killing him.

“Legs!” he heard Loud Voice hiss, and a pair of hands grabbed Dick’s ankles and held them down.

“What’s that noise?” demanded the grumpy manager.

“Just my partner,” Boss Man lied smoothly. “Like I said, he ate something that didn’t agree with him. Actually, he’s been in there a while.” A fist pounded on the door. “Hey, Jack! You okay, man?”

It sounded so believable. 

Dick could feel Loud Voice’s heartbeat hammering against his back as he retorted, “Still on the can. I could be a while.”

Dick tried desperately to yell because help was right _there_ , but the hands around his throat and mouth tightened brutally, cutting off his already limited breathing. He tried to suck in air through his nostrils, but the weight crushing him meant his lungs couldn’t expand. Dick felt himself slowly start to suffocate. 

“Sorry,” Boss Man called through the door. “The manager is here. Someone complained about the noise.”

“I told you to turn down the TV,” Loud Voice countered, keeping up the charade. 

Boss Man said something in response, but Dick couldn’t hear what. Darkness was starting to bleed into his consciousness while blood rushed in his ears. Pain was _pounding_ in his head. His lungs tried to heave, struggling desperately for air, but only succeeded in shuddering painfully beneath the weight crushing them.

The world was just starting to feel very far away when Dick could inexplicably breathe again. The weight was gone, and so were the hands from around his mouth and neck. Then someone pulled him up and propped him against something. Dick coughed and choked on the sock, while inhaling frantically through his nose. Air!

“You dumb fuck!” Boss Man was saying in a low voice. “You could have killed him!”

“Well, what else could I do?” Loud Voice argued back. “The little fucker was trying to yell. That guy would’ve heard him!”

“Keep. It. _Down!_ ” Boss man hissed. “We don’t need that guy snooping again.”

Despair hit Dick when he realized his chance at help was gone.

“So what’re we gonna do?” Loud Voice demanded, but in a quieter tone. “You saw what happened – even with a gag the little prick could make noise. We need to keep him quiet until tomorrow.”

“ _I know!_ ” Boss Man snapped edgily. “Look, I might have an idea. Let’s get the kid back in the bedroom.”

Dick was once more hauled to his feet. The continuous mistreatment of his bad arm had made it as painful as the day he’d injured it and he jerked reflexively out of their grip. 

“Pmmmmm,” he begged through the gag, jerking his chin towards his cast to indicate they were hurting him. If they weren’t hardened criminals then maybe there was some semblance of humanity he could reason with?

That hope died when rough hands grabbed him and shook him. “I’ve had just about enough of your crap!” Boss Man snarled at him. “Now, behave!”

Dick was half-carried, half-dragged back into the bedroom where he was flung roughly onto the bed. Heart pounding, he tried to curl into himself, then writhed with pain and discomfort. He was shaking a little and felt so ill. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

“What are we gonna do?” Loud Voice asked, still keeping his voice low. “That manager will get suspicious if he’s brought up here a second time and we don’t need him identifying us after this all goes down. I say we take our chances with the chloroform.”

“And if it kills him, then we don’t get our money,” Boss Man reminded him. “We need the kid alive.”

“Then how do we make sure the little fucker doesn’t try causing trouble again the first chance he gets?”

“We’re gonna keep him out another way. Hey, you got any of that crap you use on you?”

It was Nasal Voice who responded. “Thought that wasn’t your scene?”

“Not for me, dumbass! For the kid. A few shots should keep him out of it till tomorrow.”

Dick froze, listening hard.

“I dunno, man.” Nasal Voice sounded nervous. “He’s just a kid…”

“We won’t give him much,” Boss Man assured him. “Just enough to keep him controllable.”

“Controllable? Man, look at him. He doesn’t need it. Besides, you said we need to keep him in one piece. I mean, look at what that other shit did to him.”

“You heard the kid – that other stuff kills. You use this shit and you’re fine, aren’t you?”

“I guess…” Nasal Voice sounded reluctant. “Alright. Here. It’s just enough for one hit, but I can get more.”

“Let’s see if this works first,” Boss Man replied.

The sound of footsteps coming closer made Dick’s heart beat faster in panic. Drugs! They were going to give him drugs! “Nnnnnnnnnn!” he cried, wriggling away from the hands that grabbed him.

“Can it, kid!” Boss Man ordered. “You brought this on yourself.”

“Nggggghhh!” Dick twisted, kicked and bucked, making his arm spasm excruciatingly.

“Oh, for chrissake!” snapped Boss Man. “Here, you do it and I’ll hold him.”

“What?!” Nasal Voice sounded panicked. “But I don’t–”

“ _Just do it!_ ”

A large body pinned Dick down. Strong hands grabbed his good arm and pulled back the sleeve of his sweatshirt, then held his arm in place.

“Nnnnnn!” Dick tried desperately to wiggle away.

“Hold…hold him steady,” Nasal Voice squeaked nervously.

The other man responded by pressing all of his weight down on Dick, the dead weight once again making it hard to breathe. “Pmmmph!” Dick pleaded uselessly, nostrils flaring as he once more struggled to suck in air.

The men ignored him and Dick’s heart hammered in fear as he felt a needle pierce the crook of his elbow. Something cold sliced into his veins and Dick wanted to scream with frustration and despair. This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t _fair!_ Hadn’t he been through enough over the last few weeks?!

“T-there,” Nasal Voice stuttered as the needle was withdrawn. “That shouldn’t take long.”

“Good.” Boss Man climbed off of Dick, who immediately sucked in a breath. Wondering what they had given him, Dick tried not to panic. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for the drugs to kick in. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Within seconds he was light-headed, while a warm feeling spread through him. His skin started to tingle and the pain began to ease, but he could feel his chest constrict and squirmed, anxiety ratcheting several notches higher.

“Is he high yet?” asked Loud Voice. 

“I dunno, man,” Nasal Voice replied, now sounding scared. “He should be, but…why’s he shakin’?”

Dick hadn’t realized he was shaking. 

“He’s fine,” Loud Voice said dismissively. “Brat’s just scared. Rich kid like him probably isn’t used to stuff like this… Unless that shit they’re saying about Wayne is true. Hey, kid! Is it true the rich guy beats you?”

“NNNNNNNGGGGG!” Dick shook his head furiously. How dare they put Bruce on the same level as them! They were nothing but scum! Bruce was worth a million of them!

Loud Voice laughed. “Alright, kid. Keep your hair on. Just askin’ a question.”

“He’s more agitated than I thought he’d be after a shot of this,” Boss Man commented.

Dick wanted to hit him. They’d kidnapped him, tied him up, practically crushed him, shoved a freaking _sock_ into his mouth and now they were drugging him? Of course he was agitated! He growled through the gag and kicked at empty air.

“Yeah, he is,” Loud Voice muttered. “I thought that shit was supposed to mellow him out?”

“It does,” Nasal Voice answered. There was a pause before a reluctant, “But the first trip can be bad sometimes.”

“And you’re only saying that now?!” Boss Man hissed.

“Hey! You’re the one who wanted to give it to him, not me!”

“Yeah, because I wanted to keep the kid controllable, not make it harder to keep him quiet!”

Dick twisted and writhed on the bed while they argued. His skin was crawling and nausea bubbled in his stomach again. He was going to be sick. Dick needed to get the sock out of his mouth before he choked on his own vomit!

Desperately, he rubbed the side of his face against the bed, trying to get the belt off. It wouldn’t budge and Dick felt his stomach heave. He mewled frantically to get their attention.

“Shit, man! Shit!” exclaimed Nasal Voice, and hands tried to yank the belt up along Dick’s face, but only succeeded in scraping his cheek. “He’s gonna be sick! He’s gonna choke!”

“Calm down and get the buckle, moron!” snapped Boss Man, although he sounded panicked as well. 

Dick retched and choked as bile hit the sock. He could hear the clinking of the buckle by his ear, and the panicked mutterings of Nasal Voice before his mouth was suddenly, blessedly free. Dick heaved and spewed over the edge of the bed. It felt oddly relieving.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Not again,” Loud Voice complained. “I thought kids were supposed to get easier once they got older?”

“We drugged him, man, he can’t help it!” Nasal Voice whined. 

“So now what?” Loud Voice demanded. “Jesus, this is way harder than I thought it would be!”

“I won…I won’ give any morrre troubllle,” Dick slurred, trying to fight the sensation of floating that was now swallowing him. It was getting harder to focus. “I won…I’ll be…good.”

There was silence before Boss Man addressed him. “That’s right. You’re gonna be a good boy from now on, aren’t you?”

“Uh…huh…” Dick managed to nod. It was weird; he still felt sick, but he also felt…kind of good. The pain in his arm and head weren’t even so bad anymore.

“Problem solved,” Boss Man said. “Kid’s not gonna care about jack squat for the next few hours. Give him a few minutes. If he doesn’t need to get sick again, put the gag back in.”

The gag. Somewhere it occurred to Dick that he was supposed to be bothered about that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too busy melting into a comforting pool of warm.


	16. Chapter 16

Bruce’s eyes were burning from scanning the city’s traffic cameras for any sign of the white van that had been in the Summerland area when Dick was kidnapped. As soon as the police had left after installing tracers on the manor phone lines, Bruce had retired to the cave and spent all night searching for that van.

Thanks to Greg Foster’s information, the police had managed to get a shot of the van from a traffic camera. It was only a fragmentary image of the van’s right side, but that had been enough to get a partial license plate number. Bruce had started his search by checking the surrounding areas of Dick’s foster home in the immediate aftermath of his kidnapping, slowly widening it when that hadn’t turned up anything. He was now performing an extended grid search in the hopes of getting a full picture of that van, but so far he’d had no luck.

He was having the opposite problem searching for white vans with that partial plate number; there was too much information available. The computer was still searching, but so far it had turned up almost a hundred names. It would have helped if he could narrow it down to a make and model, but from the limited traffic camera angle the best he could make out was that the van _might_ be a Ford. And Bruce couldn’t afford to exclude other possibilities on the basis of a guess. So while he sat here running into walls, Dick was out there somewhere in the hands of armed men.

He sighed and rubbed at his watering eyes. Ever since the god-awful phone call from Commissioner Gordon telling him that Dick had been kidnapped, fear the likes of which Bruce didn’t often feel had been gnawing on his nerves and wearing him down. Because Dick hadn’t just been kidnapped; he’d been kidnapped while he was extremely vulnerable. Dr. Phillips had told Bruce that Dick would be more susceptible to post-traumatic complaints such as seizures for the next couple of weeks, and that Dick should get plenty of rest and not be put under any stress while he was recovering. 

Bruce tried not to think of the stress that Dick must be under right now, because what if it led to a seizure or some other complaint? The very idea sent cold fear shuddering through him.

“Christ,” he moaned, grabbing fistfuls of hair with both hands. This wasn’t fair! Instead of looking forward to his supervised visit with Dick like he should have been, Bruce was searching for his kidnappers! He wouldn’t even know if Dick was okay for several more hours – it was only eight am and those men weren’t calling until five this evening. Bruce felt like he would go out of his mind with worry before then.

“For crying out loud, Bruce, when was the last time you slept?” a voice echoed suddenly.

Bruce spun around in his chair to find Superman standing there. He must be tired if he hadn’t heard the Boy Scout come in. “I’m busy, Clark, what do you want?”

The Kryptonian looked exasperated. “I came to see how you’re–”

“I’m fine,” Bruce cut him off. Then he spotted the folder beneath Superman’s arm. “What’s that?”

“The League report on what happened on Paramushir. Kobra was trying to blow up the Chikurachki volcano to get at the bones of some ancient snake demon buried beneath it. We’re not sure why yet.”

“Have the League secured the bones?”

Superman nodded. “Hal and John used their rings to get them out.”

“Then it isn’t urgent. Leave the folder and I’ll look at it later.” Bruce turned back to the huge computer screen filled with multiple traffic cameras and resumed his search.

“Any word on Dick?”

“Clark, I don’t have time to talk about Dick’s case right now–”

“I’m not talking about his case. I meant have you heard from the kidnappers?”

Bruce jerked around. “How did you hear about that?” He’d spent all night in the cave working the cameras – the last thing on his mind had been updating the League!

Superman frowned a little. “It’s all over the news, Bruce.”

“WHAT!” Bruce immediately keyed in some instructions and the traffic cameras were replaced with footage from various news stations. Every single one of them was covering Dick’s kidnapping, some even reporting from outside his foster home!

“No,” Bruce croaked, his stomach dropping fifty feet from scared into petrified. Who the hell had leaked this?

Superman came up beside him. “Bruce, what’s wrong? Why is this different to last January? It was all over the news then too.”

“They said no police,” Bruce whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the screen. Several news stations were running Dick’s picture: some had photos of him in his school uniform accepting a trophy at last year’s mathlete competition, but most of them were using the image of Dick unconscious in the hospital. “If those kidnappers see this, then they’re going to know the police are involved…”

“And who knows what they’ll do,” concluded Superman grimly. “Damn. Is there anything I can do?”

“Not unless you can stop this story from running and make everyone who’s seen it forget about it!” Bruce smashed a fist against the armrest of his chair. “Goddamn reporters, they really don’t care who gets hurt so long as they get their story!”

“Hey, we’re not all like that,” Superman reminded him gently.

Bruce snorted. “Don’t be so naïve, Clark, not everyone is like you. Have you _seen_ what they’ve done to Dick since this all started?!”

“I saw what happened outside the hospital,” he replied quietly. “And I know a lot of reporters who were appalled by it.”

“That doesn’t change it! It doesn’t fix this!” Bruce cried, gesturing at the screen. “They’ve put my son in danger for the sake of a story! Christ, I need to call Jim Gordon…”

Heart hammering wildly, Bruce picked up the phone that was connected to the manor phone lines and dialled the commissioner’s cell phone. It rang for almost a full minute before the commissioner picked up.

“Mr. Wayne–”

“Jim, who the hell leaked this?!” Bruce cut across him.

“I don’t know,” the officer answered. “It could have been any of the kids we spoke to at Gotham Heights, or one of the neighbours that we canvassed.”

“But didn’t you ask them not to say anything? Didn’t you explain what could happen?” 

“Yes, Mr. Wayne, we did. But some of those people are struggling financially, and given the media frenzy around Dick at the moment…”

“Most news stations would pay for information on him,” Bruce finished, closing his eyes. There was something terrifying about just how little people cared about a thirteen-year-old boy’s welfare so long as they benefitted from Bruce’s money. Being Bruce’s son had always been somewhat precarious for Dick, but it had gotten worse over the last year and Bruce didn’t know why.

Bruce opened his eyes again. “Commissioner, what happens now?” As Batman, Bruce knew every possible move the police would make in any given situation, but for some reason those procedures were eluding him right now.

“Mr. Wayne, I don’t want to get your hopes up but we have two men in custody that we believe were in on Dick’s kidnapping.”

“What! Since when?” 

“We picked them up a few hours ago. My best detectives are interrogating them now and I’ll keep you updated on–”

“No,” Bruce interrupted. “You won’t keep me updated because I’m coming down there. I want to know everything that’s happening as it happens.”

“Mr. Wayne, I would advise against that. It’s crawling with reporters outside.”

Bruce’s heart almost stopped because if the police really did have two of the kidnappers and the other men got word of it, who knew what they would do to Dick! “They don’t know you have someone in custody, do they?!” 

“No,” the commissioner reassured him. “I’m just concerned about the frenzy that would break out if you show up here. I saw what happened to Dick outside the hospital on Tuesday.”

“They wouldn’t dare do that to me,” Bruce replied grimly. “They know I’m in a better position to fight back than Dick, legally speaking. You won’t talk me out of this, Commissioner. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” Twenty if he broke a couple of speed limits.

The other man sighed. “Alright. I’ll have my men keep an eye out for you in case you need help getting through that mob.”

“Thank you, Commissioner. I’ll see you soon.” Bruce hung up and turned to face Superman, who was watching him closely.

“The police have something?” he asked Bruce.

The billionaire nodded. “They have two suspects in custody. I’m going down there to hear the interrogation.”

“I hope they get something out of them. Can I do anything to help?”

“Actually, you can.” Bruce took a deep breath. He hated asking for help but Dick’s position had just gotten a lot more precarious. “Can you stay here and continue running a grid search of the city’s traffic cameras?”

“Of course. What am I looking for?” 

“This van,” Bruce replied, keying in some instructions and bringing up the image of the van cutting off Greg Foster’s car. I don’t have a make or model and I only have a partial plate number, but the police believe this is the kidnap vehicle.”

“What areas have you searched?” Superman asked, watching the screen as Bruce once more brought up the city’s traffic cameras. 

“Summerland, its surrounding areas, and most of East Gotham. I doubt the kidnappers would have headed into the city so I’ve slowly been working outwards.”

“Then I’ll keep working outwards. You just get down to the precinct and find out what you can. Don’t worry, Bruce, we’ll find Dick.”

Bruce nodded, his jaw clenching tightly in response. This was one of the few times that he hoped the Kryptonian was right.

oOo

“Mr. Wayne, have the kidnappers contacted you yet?”

“Do you have any comment about what’s happened to Richard while in state custody?”

“How do you feel about being accused of child abuse?”

“Are you angry at social services for what’s happened?”

“Will you be taking action against CPS for this?”

“What are you going to do if you don’t get Richard back?”

Fighting his way up the steps to the police station, Bruce kept his teeth gritted and his mouth shut as questions were pelted at him from all sides. 

Commissioner Gordon hadn’t been wrong; the outside of the precinct was thronged with reporters hungry for a story. And it didn’t escape Bruce’s notice that they were all keeping a safe distance – not one of them dared to swarm him as they had done to Dick. He had been right in assuming that they would be more cautious around Gotham’s wealthiest citizen who was in a better position to fight back than a thirteen-year-old boy who had just been made a ward of the state. But if the media thought that Dick had no recourse to fight what they’d done to him, they were sorely mistaken: Bruce already had Kevin Green working on going after those reporters for that vicious assault. Regardless of the outcome of all this, Dick would never again be subjected to that frenzy.

He was halfway up the steps when he saw two police officers coming towards him. They were pushing their way through the mob of reporters to get to Bruce, and when they reached him, they immediately began to herd the press away from him. It enabled Bruce to get to the front door a lot quicker. Once inside, he thanked the two officers before going in search of the Police Commissioner.

He found Commissioner Gordon in the main squad room issuing orders to a bunch of officers. Gordon was more hands-on than other police commissioners; he cared more about what was happening in his precincts than the political hands he was supposed to be greasing. It was an attitude that made him enemies in powerful circles.

“Mr. Wayne,” Commissioner Gordon called, catching sight of Bruce and coming towards him. 

“Have those men said anything yet?” Bruce asked at once.

Gordon shook his head. “No. And one of them has lawyered up, which makes me think we’re on the right track. We’re working the other guy pretty hard and I’m actually glad you’re here because I think you might be able to help.”

Bruce was surprised. “How? And how did you come to pick up these men in the first place?”

“Come with me and I’ll explain everything,” the commissioner replied, heading for the door of the squad room.

Bruce followed him and the officer began to speak as they walked. “While running that partial plate number, one of the names that came up was for a Mike Denver…the father of one of the kids that Nate told about Dick.”

Bruce frowned. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“We didn’t think so either, so we went back to the Denver home. But Mr. Denver wasn’t there. His wife said he was working – he’s a security guard who works the late shift at the Ramada Casino, six pm to four am. He used to be a plumber, which is why he drives a van, but he’s been finding it hard to get work and that’s why he took the security gig.”

“Was he at work?”

Gordon nodded. “It’s where we picked him up. His manager gave us the excuse we needed to bring him in. She told us that Denver had been an hour late for work – even though his wife told us that he left almost an hour earlier than usual for work because he was giving a co-worker a ride.”

“What time did he leave?” asked Bruce, recognizing the hallway they were in. Gordon was heading for the interrogation rooms.

“Four pm. And the co-worker he was giving the ride to was also late for work.”

 _That’s almost an hour before Dick’s kidnapping,_ Bruce realized. It put both men together during the window of the kidnapping. “Is the other man you have in custody Denver’s co-worker?”

Gordon nodded. “His name is Troy Holloway, an ex-con. He ran as soon as he saw us so we arrested him.”

“An ex-con? How did he get work in a casino?” Gotham Casinos required a clean criminal record for all potential employees; less chance of being ripped off by their employees that way. 

“His sister got him in as a janitor. She’s been a croupier there for over five years, one of their best apparently. The casino manager told us that Holloway’s been working there for four months…the same length of time as Denver. The two of them started the same week and they’re pretty tight by all accounts. They work nearly all the same shifts and take their breaks together. Stands to reason Denver would tell Holloway that his kid told him where Dick is. It was probably Holloway’s idea to set up the kidnapping.”

“Why do you think it was Holloway’s idea?”

“Because Mike Denver has never had so much as a parking ticket before now,” Gordon replied. “The guy is squeaky clean.”

“How do you jump from that to kidnapping?” Bruce wondered, as they arrived at the interrogation rooms.

“Desperation. Remember I told you that he’d been finding it hard to get work? He and his wife are behind on their mortgage and the bank is threatening to foreclose on their house. They have four children under the age of sixteen and one of them has a chronic illness. Denver is a desperate man, not a bad one.” Gordon stopped outside one of the interrogation rooms. “And that’s why you should talk to him.”

“ _Me?_ ”

“I know it seems a little unorthodox but I want you to ask him where Dick is.”

Bruce stared at him. “I’m sorry, Commissioner, I don’t understand...”

“Denver’s reaction to the news that the media were running the story of Dick’s kidnapping put the idea in my head,” Gordon explained. “Holloway lawyered up the second he heard that, but Denver got upset. _Really_ upset. He seemed more bothered by the fact that the media had released the word about Dick’s kidnapping than he was by our accusing him of the kidnapping. I think he’s genuinely worried about Dick’s safety and that’s why I think you can get through to him.”

“You think I can convince him to tell me where Dick is?” Bruce was sceptical.

“I do. This man is a father and I’d be willing to bet he got caught up in this because he was trying save his family from losing their home. He’s not a bad man, Mr. Wayne. Talk to him, one father to another. Show him how scared you are for Dick, how much you miss him.”

Bruce tightened his jaw. He wasn’t good with emotion; the only one he really knew how to convey was anger. How was he supposed to be emotionally open in front of a complete stranger, the kidnapper of his own child no less, when all he wanted to do was bash the man’s head in? 

Then he reminded himself that Dick was counting on him. He _had_ to do this. “I’ll do my best, Commissioner,” he managed.

“Good.” Commissioner Gordon rapped on the door of the interrogation room, and Harvey Bullock exited after a minute.

“Has he said anything new?” Gordon wanted to know.

“Creep keeps sayin’ he’s innocent.” Bullock snorted. “If he’s innocent then I’m freakin’ Santa Claus.”

“It might be time to try a different tactic,” Gordon informed him. “Take a break, Bullock. Mr. Wayne and I are going to have a crack at him.”

Bullock raised an eyebrow at Bruce. “No offence, Commish, but you’re lettin’ _him_ talk to this clown?”

“Yes, Detective, I am. I think Mr. Wayne might be able to persuade Denver to tell him where Dick is.”

Looking sceptical, Bullock shrugged. “Okay, Commish, you’re the boss.”

Gordon turned to face Bruce. “Are you ready, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce nodded. “Whatever it takes to get Dick home safe.”

Opening the door of the interrogation room, the commissioner entered with Bruce right behind him. The billionaire felt a little off-kilter; he’d been in these interrogation rooms many times as Batman, but never as Bruce Wayne. And he’d certainly never been in an interrogation room to try and _bond_ with a criminal, much less one who had abducted his son!

Inside, the man sitting at the table looked completely ordinary. Clean-shaven and of average height, his right leg was jittering beneath the table. He looked up as they entered and his eyes widened when he spotted Bruce.

“What the hell?” he demanded, jumping up and backing away from the table. “What’s _he_ doing here?!”

“Mr. Wayne wants to speak with you,” Gordon replied, sitting into one of the chairs at the table. “Why don’t you have a seat so you two can talk?”

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Denver muttered, looking anywhere but at Bruce.

Bruce knew guilt when he saw it and felt a small dart of hope. Maybe he would be able to convince this man to tell them where Dick was. Making an effort to keep his voice calm, he addressed Denver. “I understand why you don’t want to speak with me, Mr. Denver, but I’d really like to talk with you if you’ll give me the chance?”

God, it killed him to be civil to a man who’d kidnapped his son. But the slim chance they had of this working relied on him being able to convince Denver to talk. He couldn’t afford to alienate the man.

“I don’t want– why’s he here?” Denver demanded of Gordon. “Is this some sort of trick?”

“This isn’t a trick, Mr. Denver,” Bruce answered, before Gordon could. “Commissioner Gordon told me that he thinks you’re one of the men who kidnapped Dick, but he doesn’t think that you instigated the kidnapping. He thinks you’re a decent man who wants to do the right thing. And so do I.”

Bruce’s fingers twitched from resisting the urge to pummel this man to a bloody pulp.

Denver muttered something and started to pace back and forth, running his hands through his hair while still refusing to look at Bruce.

“Mr. Denver, those men said not to call the police,” Bruce began, being careful to use distancing language to separate Denver from the other kidnappers. “But Dick’s social worker didn’t know that and she called the police, so now it’s all over Gotham that Dick was kidnapped. If those men see the news they might panic and hurt Dick.” Bruce swallowed. He didn’t have to fake the fear that crept into his voice because what if they couldn’t get this guy to talk?

Denver stopped pacing and burst out, “Why do you even care? Didn’t you hurt the kid?”

Bruce had to work hard to smother his anger. If he really thought that then why did he kidnap Dick in the first place? “I didn’t hurt Dick. He’s my son and I would never hurt him. All I want is my boy home safe. Please, Mr. Denver, where is he?”

“I didn’t kidnap him!” Denver snapped, but Bruce could see his eyes dart around the room like that of a trapped animal while his hands shook with nerves.

“But you see, Mr. Denver, that’s just it,” Commissioner Gordon interjected. “The evidence suggests you did.”

The man gave a nervous laugh. “What evidence? There’s no evidence because I didn’t do it!”

“The police believe that your van was used in the kidnapping,” Bruce told him. “And that makes you an accessory. But maybe you didn’t want to do it, maybe you just got talked into it because you were desperate. After all, you’re a father too, Mr. Denver, why would you hurt another man’s child?”

Denver was perspiring as he stared at Bruce. “I wouldn’t hurt a kid,” he whispered.

“And I believe that,” said Bruce, fighting the urge to shake him and _demand_ to know where Dick was. Appealing to the father in Denver was the only way they would get anywhere. “You never intended to hurt Dick. You were just trying to do what was best for your own family. The bank is threatening to take your house, aren’t they?”

“What would a rich guy like you know about that?” Denver retorted bitterly. “You’ve never had to worry about money a single day in your life! You don’t have to worry about keeping a roof over your kid’s head or putting food on the table!”

It took every ounce of control that Bruce had not to react. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have other things to worry about. I worry about Dick’s safety _all_ the time. He’s my son, which means people target him to get at me. And men like the ones who kidnapped Dick have no problem hurting him for money. It doesn’t matter that he’s only thirteen.” His voice shook a little at that admission. 

“You…you don’t know that they’d hurt him,” Denver argued shakily.

Bruce swallowed again. “Actually, I do. Dick was kidnapped last January and locked in a freezer by his kidnappers. It nearly killed him.” He could feel his nerves starting to go as he talked about this. It was a very real possibility that these men might hurt Dick and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep handling this bastard with kid gloves. Denver needed to start talking before Bruce snapped and started yelling.

“And if Dick Grayson dies then you become an accessory to murder,” Gordon cut in harshly.

“Nobody said anything about the kid dying!” Denver cried. Then his eyes widened and he backtracked. “I mean, why are we even talking about this? Isn’t the whole point of a kidnapping to get money? Why would those men hurt him?”

“Because they might panic once they see the news,” Gordon pointed out. “This kind of kidnapping is a Class A Felony, and that means twenty-five to life. That’s enough to make some men think the money isn’t worth it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Denver asked, his eyes frightened.

Gordon leaned forward in his seat. “Because you can help yourself by helping us, Mr. Denver.”

“Stop…stop talking like you think I had something to do with this,” Denver protested weakly. “I didn’t. I _didn’t._ ”

Every nerve in Bruce’s body was thrumming with anger, fear and frustration. He _needed_ to make this man see how important it was that he told them where Dick was. “Mr. Denver, did you know that Dick is recovering from a serious head injury?”

The man’s mouth opened a little “H-head injury?” 

“That’s why he was in hospital.” Bruce forced himself to maintain eye contact with the man, to not explode. It was killing him to do this. “Dick is really vulnerable right now, but those men don’t know that. They could hurt him without meaning to.” 

Denver was shaking his head. “I– I don’t think they would…hurt him, I mean.”

“How can you say that unless you know the men who took him?” 

“I don’t…it doesn’t mean…”

“Please, Mr. Denver, where’s Dick?” Bruce begged.

The man shook his head before starting to pace again. “I– I can’t…my family…”

“Tell us where Dick is and we can make you a deal,” Gordon spoke up quickly. 

“But…” Denver’s voice was barely audible. “If I’m not there…we lose our home!”

“Then I’ll pay your mortgage if that’s what it takes!” cried Bruce, his voice now edged with a raw desperation. “Mr. Denver, _please!_ Where is my son?” 

Denver stopped pacing and stared, ashen, at Bruce. Then he moaned and collapsed onto a chair, burying his head in his hands. “Oh god! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I was just trying to save our home. I didn’t mean for it to go this far! It just– it got out of control. I didn’t think they _meant_ it!”

“Okay. Calm down, Mr. Denver and tell us everything,” said Gordon, while the part of Bruce that hadn’t believed this would work reeled in shock. 

Denver remained hunched over in his chair, his voice quivering as he spoke. “My son came home the day before yesterday, and told us that Richard Grayson was now living with his friend Nate. So I told Troy and Charlie.” He looked up, his expression wretched. “I just thought it’d be a good story to tell the guys, you know? But they both got really weird. They started talking about how they could kidnap the kid for money. I thought they were joking at first but then they started making _plans_. I told them it was dumb but Charlie…Charlie said I could save my home. He said no one needed to get hurt.”

“Who’s Charlie?” Gordon demanded.

“Charlie Donohue. He’s another security guard at the casino,” Denver explained. “He’s the one who set everything up. I went along with it because I was desperate. Annie’s medical bills eat up nearly everything we make and we’re so behind on the mortgage–”

“Save the sob story!” snapped Commissioner Gordon and Denver flinched. “How many of you are in on this?”

Bruce clenched his jaw and balled his fists. He knew it was important to have all the information in order to execute a successful rescue, but it was difficult to curb his impatience when every fibre of him was screaming to know where Dick was.

“Five,” Denver answered miserably. “I don’t know much about the other two guys because Charlie brought them in – they know how to do that money cleaning thing so the cops can’t trace it. I only met them yesterday and all I know is their first names: Jack and Danny.”

“And where are they now?” Gordon demanded harshly.

Denver swallowed. “They’re with the kid at the motel. It was Charlie’s night off, but he said me and Troy couldn’t miss our shifts. We needed to keep up our routines so no one would get suspicious. He said–”

Gordon smacked the table. “ _What motel?_ ” 

Every nerve in Bruce’s body strained painfully as he waited for Denver to respond. The kidnapper couldn’t look at him as he spoke.

“The Kingpin Inn. Room 109 on the ground floor.” 

The Kingpin Inn. That was less than a mile from where the white van had cut Greg Foster off. No wonder Bruce had been unable to find it on traffic cameras; there hadn’t been a working camera in that area since the old road to the interstate was closed off. The motel was now too off the beaten track to be used by anyone other than those requiring charge-by-the-hour rates.

“When are the others expecting you and Holloway back at the motel?” demanded Gordon, getting to his feet.

“Not until this evening. For– for the…”

“For the ransom call,” Bruce finished grimly. Denver gave him a frightened look and nodded.

“And the other three men are with Dick right now?” Gordon confirmed. “They weren’t going anywhere else?”

Denver shook his head. “They’re staying put to keep watch on the kid.”

Bruce bared his teeth in a silent snarl. It took three grown men with guns to keep watch on an injured thirteen-year-old boy? 

“You’d better hope that boy is unharmed, Denver,” Gordon warned, heading for the door.

Bruce made to leave too, but a cry from Denver stopped him in his tracks. “Mr. Wayne, wait!”

Jaw set tight in anger, Bruce turned to face him. Denver’s eyes were miserable and scared as he stared up at Bruce. “I’m…I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wayne…” Then his face crumpled and he gave a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan before burying his face in his hands. “Oh god, what have I done? What have I _done?_ ”

For a moment, Bruce stared at the pitiful figure of Denver hunched over in the chair, trembling and sobbing. Despite his role in Dick’s kidnapping, Bruce couldn’t bring himself to hate the man. 

But that didn’t mean he had to forgive him either. 

Without speaking another word, Bruce left the room.


	17. Chapter 17

By the time Bruce and Commissioner Gordon arrived at The Kingpin Inn, police officers had secured the perimeter and SWAT were moving into position. Commissioner Gordon had decided to use SWAT since the men who’d kidnapped Dick were armed and possibly dangerous, but their involvement only made Bruce more nervous. Ninety percent of SWAT raids ended without a single shot being fired, but that still left a ten percent margin for someone to get hurt. And even ten percent were odds Bruce didn’t like.

The commissioner parked at the gas station several yards from the motel where SWAT had set up its command post. There were no reporters to be seen, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t show once word spread that the area around the Kingpin Inn had been closed off and a SWAT team were present. Just thinking about that possibility made Bruce’s anxiety ratchet several notches higher. Reporters would endanger Dick further if they tipped off the kidnappers before SWAT were ready to move. 

Which Bruce hoped would be soon. Time was of the essence and they’d already wasted enough. Preparation for this rescue had been painstakingly slow; the media presence outside the station had forced SWAT to mobilize from another location, with Gordon briefing them via speakerphone. Gordon had also needed to deploy officers to secure the area surrounding the motel without tipping off the waiting newshounds to what was going on. And while such precautions had been necessary, the waiting had almost driven Bruce insane. He’d wanted nothing more than to race to Dick’s rescue as soon as Denver had revealed his location, but Bruce Wayne disappearing while his son’s rescue operation was going down only to be followed by Batman rescuing the boy would raise too many questions. And if word got out that Bruce was Batman, it wouldn’t just be Bruce’s life on the line…it would be everyone who mattered to him. So he had no choice but to stay with Gordon and play the helpless, worried parent. Which wasn’t all that difficult since that’s exactly what he was.

Bruce was getting pretty fucking tired of being powerless to help his own child.

After SWAT had rolled out, Gordon enlisted two officers as decoys so that he and Bruce could leave without being followed. While the media were preoccupied with the decoys, Bruce and Gordon had snuck out the back door of the station and into an unmarked patrol car, the painstaking, frustratingly necessary process driving Bruce insane. Even getting to the motel – despite Gordon breaking every speed limit on the way – had felt like an eternity to Bruce.

The result was that every nerve in his body was stretched to snapping as they climbed out of the car. It didn’t help that Dick was less than a hundred yards away and Bruce could do nothing. He was already regretting not going in as Batman, because what if something went wrong?

Following Gordon towards the sleek, black bus that functioned as the SWAT command post, Bruce glanced at the Kingpin Inn. It was a typical motel; a two-story, L-shaped structure with all of its rooms facing the parking lot. SWAT had obviously chosen the gas station because its sideways proximity meant it was located in the motel’s only blindspot. He just hoped that blindspot would be enough to keep the kidnappers from discovering they were out here.

Bruce followed Gordon onto the bus, where they were approached by one of its occupants, a tall man whose bearing told Bruce he was ex-military. “Commissioner Gordon,” the man greeted the officer.

Gordon shook his hand and gestured towards Bruce. “Commander, this is Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne, this is Commander Harris.”

“Commander, do you know how Dick is?” asked Bruce at once, concern making him disregard social niceties. 

Commander Harris shook his head. “Not yet. I’m waiting on my recon team to return with information on the room and its occupants.”

Gordon frowned. “Can you tell us where you are on the situation?” 

“The surrounding rooms have been evacuated, the area is secure, paramedics are standing by and my team are in position. We also spoke to the motel manager.” Harris looked grim. “Commissioner, he said he got a complaint about that room around nine last night. Apparently the adjoining room heard someone yelling for help. They said it sounded like a kid.”

Bruce felt sick to his stomach at the idea of Dick yelling for help.

“A child was calling for help and he didn’t call the police?” said Gordon incredulously. “Did he at least check it out?”

Harris nodded. “He said everything was fine when he entered. The man who rented the room told him the yells had been from the TV and apologized for disturbing the other residents. The manager said the only other person in the room was the man’s friend and he was getting sick in the bathroom.”

“But did he actually see the other man? Or the bathroom?” Gordon demanded.

“No. But he did identify Charles Donoghue as the man he spoke with.”

“So they were probably hiding Dick in the bathroom,” Gordon concluded.

“Yes, sir, that’d be my guess,” Harris agreed. “And there’s something else. My team leaders–” he indicated to the man and woman working feverishly at the computers behind him, “–may have identified another one of the kidnappers.”

Gordon looked surprised. “How?” 

“The information you gave us at the briefing. You said Charles Donoghue had brought the two unknown kidnappers on board. So we ran a background check on Donoghue and any known associates with the names Jack or Danny. Turns out he went to high school with a Jack Hanley who he’s in regular contact with. And Hanley has a long rap sheet: assault, arson, theft, B & E, money laundering…”

“Denver did say that the two men he didn’t know were brought on board because they knew how to launder money,” Gordon mused. “Hanley could well be one of them.”

Harris pursed his lips. “If he is then negotiation isn’t likely to work. Jack Hanley has a history of resisting arrest and aggression against authority figures. Ten years ago, he nearly killed an old woman by shoving her down a flight of stairs while trying to escape pursuing officers. If he knows we’re here he might hurt the kid.”

Bruce couldn’t stop himself from groaning in despair at Harris’ summation. 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wayne,” Gordon tried to reassure him. “We’ll get Dick out of there unharmed. Commander Harris, I need you to email a picture of Jack Hanley to the station. I’m going to ask Detective Bullock to show the picture to Mike Denver. If Denver identifies Hanley as one of the kidnappers then we can rule out negotiation and focus on other tactics.” 

“Okay,” Harris agreed. “Where–”

“Commander!” a SWAT officer interrupted, boarding the bus. “Thermal imaging picked up something you should see.”

“What is it, Marlow?” asked Harris.

The SWAT officer held out what Bruce recognized to be a thermographic camera. The screen showed the thermal images of four figures: three large, one small. The large figures were all emitting a red heat signature, but the small shape was pale pink. 

As Harris grabbed his radio and started barking orders, terror slammed into Bruce, nearly taking his breath away. A pink heat signature for that particular camera model meant body heat was fading. 

Dick was dying.

Bruce gave a low moan and moved for the door, only to have his path blocked by Commissioner Gordon. “No, Mr. Wayne. Let SWAT do their job.”

“Dick…” said Bruce in anguish, unable to voice anything else as he tried to get past Gordon. Why the _hell_ hadn’t he gone in as Batman!

The officer didn’t budge. “These men are trained experts, Mr. Wayne. Trust them.”

But Bruce couldn’t. Not when it was his son’s life on the line.

He glanced over to where Commander Harris had finished giving the assembled SWAT team the order to advance. The SWAT officer, Marlow, had disappeared while Gordon was restraining Bruce, probably to resume his position with the infrared. 

The sound of the SWAT team moving in echoed over the radio and Bruce covered his mouth. He literally couldn’t bear this. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gordon watching him in pity, but for once the sentiment didn’t irritate him. It paled in comparison to the fear that was strangling him.

_Please be okay, Dick. Please, please, be okay!_

Bruce wasn’t a praying man, but he found himself repeating that mantra over and over, while he waited for the SWAT team to infiltrate the motel room. 

Finally, the crash of a door breaking in and the bang of a flash grenade blasted over the radio, followed by loud yells and swearing from the disoriented kidnappers, and cries of “get down on the ground” from a SWAT officer. After several minutes of agonized waiting, the words Bruce was waiting to hear crackled through the radio.

“All clear.”

Bruce immediately shoved Gordon and Harris out of the way, and jumped out of the bus.

“Mr. Wayne, wait!” he heard Commissioner Gordon yell, but Bruce ignored him and started to run.

It felt like time was moving in slow motion as he tore up the road towards the motel, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. His mind was devoid of everything except the sensations of anxiety and fear.

Entering the motel parking lot, Bruce spotted several SWAT officers escorting three men in handcuffs out of a room. They were obviously the kidnappers, but Bruce no longer cared about them because Dick was in that room. Increasing his speed, Bruce pushed himself to his limit as he raced across the parking lot. Two of the SWAT officers moved to stop him as he barrelled towards them, but then seemed to think better of it and moved aside to let him pass.

Bruce flew past them and crashed into the motel room, almost bowling over the SWAT officer just inside the door. “DICK!” he cried breathlessly.

The room was small and crowded, but Bruce’s eyes immediately picked out the three SWAT officers who were clustered around the bed furthest from the door. Dick’s sneakers were all he could see of his son.

“No,” he moaned, hurrying across the room and pushing two of the SWAT officers out of the way so he could get to his boy.

Dick was unconscious and chalk white. The SWAT officer on the other side of the bed was untying the ropes around his wrists, and rage sliced through Bruce when he saw how the kidnappers had pulled Dick’s broken arm out of position so they could bind his wrists together. And…was that a _belt_ around his mouth?! Bruce’s eyes narrowed. There was something depraved-looking about the makeshift gag.

Stomach churning, Bruce dropped to his knees and unbuckled the belt, then carefully unwound it from around Dick’s head. It was unnerving how cold and clammy he felt. He finished removing the belt, only to discover there was also something in Dick’s mouth. _Those fucking savages!_ he thought, enraged, as he pulled a saliva-sodden sock out of his child’s mouth. Across from him, the SWAT officer shook his head in disgust.

Dropping the sock, Bruce returned his attention to Dick and ran a hand through the boy’s hair, only just spotting the blindfold that was twisted up around his forehead; the SWAT officers must have been trying to remove it. 

The skin around Dick’s nose and mouth was peppered with raw sores, and Bruce wondered if they had been caused by the belt. “Dick?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Dick made no response. 

“C’mon, kiddo, open your eyes,” Bruce pleaded.

Dick still didn’t move. His breathing was very shallow and Bruce noticed a dreadful blue tinge to his lips and fingers. Realizing that Dick was cyanotic, Bruce fumbled for a pulse and his own heart almost stopped when he discovered how weak it was.

“Mr. Wayne,” the SWAT officer across from him addressed him suddenly. “The paramedics are here.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder just as two paramedics entered the room, and quickly stood up to let them help Dick. As the paramedics put their equipment down and began to assess Dick, Bruce spied vomit all down the side of the bed and splashed across the carpet. He’d knelt in the stuff without realizing it, but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

And then it occurred to him that the vomit was probably Dick’s. Bruce clenched his fists. Dick had gotten sick and those bastards had still seen fit to shove a sock in his mouth! Dick could have choked on his own vomit! 

He watched in anger and helpless fear as the male paramedic put an oxygen mask over Dick’s face to aid his breathing, then winced when the man performed a sternal rub to try and rouse Dick. Meanwhile, the female paramedic had begun to set up an IV. She addressed the room while she worked. “Does anybody know what he’s been given?” No one answered and she frowned. “Can someone find out?”

“I will,” volunteered one of the remaining SWAT officers, and left the room.

Bruce remained silent for several heart-wrenching minutes until he could no longer stand it. “What’s wrong with him?” he demanded desperately.

The woman glanced at him and her expression softened. “He’s been drugged. And whatever they gave him, they gave him too much.”

Bruce grappled with what she was saying. “Are you saying that Dick is…ODing?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Bruce felt the world drop out from under him. How could this be happening? He was supposed to be meeting Dick for their supervised visit, not watching him OD! This just wasn’t fair!

Bruce knew how naïve such reasoning was – he had learned how capricious and cruel life could be when he was eight. But this was hard to stomach; why did the two of them seem so destined to suffer? They’d both already lost everything before finding each other, why couldn’t the damn universe just leave them alone?

Bruce’s internal tirade was broken by Commissioner Gordon entering the room, his expression tightening when he laid eyes on Dick. “One of the SWAT officers said you needed to know what Dick’s been drugged with,” he addressed the paramedics, while shooting an uneasy, sideways glance at Bruce. “It’s heroin.”

Bruce was literally struck dumb. Those bastards gave his child _heroin?!_

The female paramedic began to root in her bag. “How much did they give him?”

Gordon snorted. “Idiots aren’t sure of the exact dosage. They gave him the first shot around ten last night, another one at about four thirty this morning, and the last one almost an hour ago.”

“They shot him up three times in the last fourteen hours?!” exclaimed the male paramedic. “What were they _thinking?_ ”

“They weren’t thinking,” replied Gordon in disgust. “They drugged him with chloroform first, but they switched to heroin after the chloroform made him sick.”

The chloroform explained the sores around Dick’s mouth. Bruce seethed in violent fury. Those bastards were going to pay for what they’d done to his son. 

“So they didn’t give him any more chloroform after the heroin?” clarified the female paramedic, filling a syringe with clear liquid. 

“No,” said Gordon, while Bruce narrowed his eyes at the syringe. The needle was huge.

“Why are you giving Dick more drugs?” he demanded.

“This is narcan,” she replied, not looking up as she started to administer the drug slowly. “It reverses the effects of an opioid overdose.”

Narcan. The word triggered something in Bruce’s brain. He knew what narcan was. He also knew that withdrawal was a possible side-effect. He swallowed. “How long before it takes effect?” 

“Difficult to say. It depends on other factors, like how much heroin he’s been given and the amount of narcan he’s treated with. I’ll start with a smaller dose to be on the safe side and steadily increase it to the full dose until he responds.” 

Bruce was confused. “But if Dick was given a lot of heroin, shouldn’t he be given a larger dose of narcan?” 

“No. Acute withdrawal can be a side-effect of narcan, especially with larger doses of it,” the woman explained patiently. “And that risk increases if a lot of heroin has been ingested. I’m trying to save Dick from coming around in full withdrawal by giving him the narcan slowly. Mr. Wayne, I know your first instinct is to bring Dick straight out of this, but believe me, it’s far worse for a patient to just get slammed with a full dose of narcan.” She finished her slow administration of the drug and withdrew the needle.

Bruce didn’t know what to do. From what he’d seen in heroin users, withdrawal was a hellish experience, one that he did not want Dick to suffer. But if this woman was wrong it could cost Dick his life.

She seemed to sense his hesitation. “Mr. Wayne, I’ve been doing this for more than ten years and I’ve treated a lot of heroin overdoses. This way is _always_ easiest on the patient, trust me.”

Bruce would have found it a lot easier to trust her if he hadn’t heard those exact words from Margaret Elliot when she’d promised to keep Dick safe. But before he could make any objection, the woman spoke again.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry, but we really need to get Dick to the hospital. Do you want to ride with him?”

“Yes,” said Bruce at once. If CPS wanted him to leave Dick’s side after this then they would need to have him arrested.

Heart pounding, he watched as the paramedics carefully lifted Dick onto the gurney. Once Dick was strapped down, they wheeled him out, Bruce following quickly behind them. Out of the confines of the small room, he was able to walk beside Dick and take his hand. 

Moving towards the waiting ambulance, Bruce felt anger grip him when he spied the police barricade that had been set up on the edge of the parking lot; there were at least five or six reporters gathered behind it. They went wild when they spotted him, yelling questions he couldn’t hear at this distance, all while taking pictures. Bruce knew the image of him walking alongside the gurney and holding Dick’s hand would be plastered across every TV screen in Gotham by tonight. It sickened him that his son’s right to privacy was being violated at every turn just because Bruce was a public figure.

They reached the ambulance, enabling Bruce to hear what the reporters were yelling at him. He pointedly ignored them, keeping his eyes fixated on Dick as the paramedics loaded him into the back of the ambulance, while silently fuming over the frenzy of camera flashes to his right. After this was all over, he was going after the press of Gotham for their relentless hounding of Dick. He didn’t care how much money he spent, the law needed to change in order to protect children like Dick. No matter how famous the parent, the paparazzi shouldn’t be allowed to harass a child like this.

“You can get in now, Mr. Wayne,” the male paramedic told him, climbing out of the ambulance once he’d secured the gurney.

Bruce immediately did so, taking a seat beside Dick’s head. He was still frighteningly pale, but the awful blue tinge of his lips and fingers had diminished a little. The crumpled blindfold was gone from around his forehead and Bruce guessed the paramedics had removed it.

The female paramedic joined them in the back of the ambulance, while the male paramedic closed the doors. Bruce heaved a sigh of relief to be out of the reporters’ line of sight and hoped fervently that there were none waiting at the hospital. He watched the female paramedic check Dick’s oxygen before assessing his vitals and recording them in a chart. Bruce caught a glimpse of the stats she had written down and gulped. It was _terrifying_ how weak Dick was.

The engine started up and Bruce could hear the male paramedic radioing the hospital as the ambulance pulled out. Gotham General was only minutes away, but that did nothing to alleviate his fear. Anything could happen in a few minutes. Jaw clenched tight and his whole body one giant knot of screaming tension, Bruce reached out and ran a hand through Dick’s hair.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wayne,” said the female paramedic. “We’ll take good care of your boy. Trust me.”

Bruce scowled. People really needed to stop saying that to him.

oOo

When they finally arrived at Gotham General exactly five minutes and nineteen seconds later, Bruce was frantic. Despite a second shot of narcan enroute to the hospital, Dick still hadn’t so much as twitched.

Worry and fear nearly strangling him, Bruce followed the paramedics and Dick through the double doors of the ER, ignoring the startled looks of the patients gathered in the waiting area. He really couldn’t give a crap about the oh-my-god-it’s-Bruce-Wayne moment they were having.

A doctor and two nurses hurried towards them. “Trauma two is free,” said one of the nurses pointing down the hall, and the paramedics immediately pushed the gurney in that direction.

“BP is eighty over fifty-five,” the female paramedic began as the doctor fell into step beside the gurney, while Bruce brought up the rear. “Pulse rate thirty-seven and respiratory rate is nine. Temperature is ninety-four and there’s been no response to stimuli, including sternal rubbing. He’s on an IV of dextrose and he received four milligrams of narcan in two increments. The last injection was almost four minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t he receive the full dose when his vitals are so low?” demanded the doctor, as they turned into an examination room. 

“We don’t know exactly how much heroin he was given,” explained the female paramedic. “But it sounds like quite a bit. I didn’t want him coming around in full withdrawal.”

The doctor tsked. “Overdose is a bigger issue than withdrawal. Get me a six milligram bolus of narcan, now!” he barked at one of the nurses, who immediately complied. 

Bruce felt his heart plummet and he glanced angrily at the female paramedic. She’d assured him she knew what she was doing!

But the woman didn’t even look remotely chastised. Instead she was scowling at the doctor, who was now peering into Dick’s eyes. “Pupils are constricted and non-reactive. How long has he been like this?”

“We’re not sure. At least fifteen minutes, possibly more,” answered the female paramedic, exchanging a resigned glance with the other paramedic.

“Dr. Koburn,” said the nurse who’d been instructed to prepare the narcan. She was holding out a large-needled syringe and seemed hesitant.

Dr. Koburn didn’t notice. Instead he grabbed the syringe and pulled down the neck of Dick’s sweatshirt, jabbing the needle into Dick’s shoulder. He pushed the plunger down, administering it far more quickly than the female paramedic had done. 

His urgency sent shudders of cold fear through Bruce, who could only watch helplessly as the medical team started to work on Dick. The two paramedics had retreated back to the door and Bruce glanced at them, frowning. They both looked distinctly unhappy about something. Then he heard a choked cry and turned back just in time to witness Dick jerking his head out from beneath Dr. Koburn’s hand: the doctor had been peering into his eyes once more.

Bruce immediately stepped forward, but the doctor waved him back while addressing Dick in a loud voice. “Richard, can you hear me?”

Bruce could see Dick’s blue eyes blink in confusion, then dart from side to side. 

“Richard,” Dr. Koburn’s voice was bordering on shouting, “do you understand me?”

Dick made a distressed sound and then gagged, before vomiting into his oxygen mask.

“Dammit!” exclaimed the doctor, simultaneously pulling the mask off of Dick and stepping back as vomit spattered the floor.

Bruce saw Dick retch again, then try to sit up. But the straps on the gurney hadn’t yet been unbuckled so all he succeeded in doing was getting sick down the front of his sweatshirt. With a small whine, Dick lay back down and rolled his head to the side. Chest heaving, he spewed over the side of the gurney. 

Bruce moved towards him, but was once more waved back by Dr. Koburn. “Please, Mr. Wayne, step back!” the doctor snapped. 

Helpless and frustrated, Bruce did as he was told. He could see Dick’s eyes searching the room for him after the doctor said his name. When his gaze landed on Bruce, the billionaire saw him mouth ‘Bruce’ before vomiting over the side of the gurney once more. One of the nurses began unbuckling Dick from the gurney, trying to avoid the boy’s projectile vomiting as she did so.

“What on earth is going on here?” demanded a female voice, and Bruce’s head swivelled quickly towards the door to find Dr. Lewis – the very doctor who had kick-started this whole child abuse nightmare – standing there. The paramedics had disappeared.

She looked shocked and Bruce supposed he couldn’t blame her. It must have looked like quite a sight; Dick covered in vomit and still half-pinned to the gurney, gasping and puking over the edge, while one of the nurses tried to get him unbuckled, and a squeamish-looking Dr. Koburn who kept jumping back every time Dick threw up. 

“Heroin overdose,” Dr. Koburn answered brusquely. “And the narcan has induced withdrawal.”

“Dick’s not an addict, he shouldn’t _be_ in withdrawal,” said Dr. Lewis, striding towards the gurney. Dr. Koburn looked taken aback that she knew Dick. 

“How much narcan was he given?” Dr. Lewis demanded, elevating the head of the gurney, while Dick gasped for breath during a brief reprieve. 

“Paramedics gave him four milligrams in two increments and we gave him a bolus of six,” replied Dr. Koburn. 

Dr. Lewis jerked around to stare at him. “You gave him six milligrams in one bolus?” 

Dr. Koburn nodded. “His vitals were extremely low.”

Suddenly, Dick gagged and spewed over the edge of the gurney again. 

“Get a bedpan,” Dr. Lewis instructed one of the nurses, before turning back to Dr. Koburn. “Was he on oxygen when he came in?”

Dr. Koburn nodded. “We had to take the mask off when he started getting sick.”

“And which probably wouldn’t have happened if you’d given the narcan in smaller doses,” Dr. Lewis pointed out, picking up the clipboard at Dick’s feet and scanning the paramedics’ notes. “Respiratory depression is the biggest problem in an opioid overdose, but the oxygen would have compensated for that. Two milligrams every five minutes until he responded would have been sufficient and it might have prevented _this_.”

She waved a hand at Dick, who was now sweating and trembling on the gurney, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched tight, evidently in pain. 

“He wasn’t responding to any stimuli and his stats were all dangerously low,” Dr. Koburn argued defensively, just as the nurse returned with the bedpan. “I treated him accordingly.”

Before Dr. Lewis could respond, Dick made a noise somewhere between a moan and a sob, then retched again over the side of the gurney. 

Bruce couldn’t bear it any longer. He wasn’t going to just stand here while Dick was in such distress, especially since the staff couldn’t properly treat him while he was projectile vomiting all over the ER room! “May I have that, please?” he asked the nurse, indicating the bedpan that she was about to approach Dick with. Looking startled, she nodded and handed it to him. “Thank you,” he said, then strode over to the gurney. 

“Excuse me, Dr. Lewis,” he said, ignoring her surprised expression as he squeezed past her to stand beside Dick. He slid his right arm around the boy’s shoulders and carefully pulled him up from where he was leaning over the side of the gurney, heaving and choking and retching. Manoeuvring the bedpan to catch what Dick regurgitated, Bruce brought the boy to a sitting position. Some of the vomit splattered the arm of his expensive suit, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was easing Dick’s distress.

Keeping his right arm around Dick’s shoulders while his left held the bedpan, Bruce pulled Dick in to lie against his chest. He was shaking and groaning between each dreadful heave, and there was blood on the back of his hand where the IV had somehow been ripped out. 

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Bruce tried to soothe him. “I’ve got you.”

Dick wiped a shaking hand across his mouth. “B-Bruce…how…?”

“The police rescued you. You’re in the hospital; those men gave you drugs which made you overdose.” Bruce kept things simple. There was no point in explaining about the withdrawal while Dick was in such a state.

“Dick?” Dr. Lewis stepped up beside Bruce. “Do you remember me?”

Through Dick’s trembling, Bruce felt him freeze and clutch at his guardian’s jacket with his good hand. “Please don’t make Bruce leave!”

The doctor looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Mr. Wayne is welcome to stay, Dick. But we need to treat you, so I’m just going to ask Mr. Wayne if he would mind helping us to lift you off of that bed and onto this one. Is that okay, Dick?” 

She indicated a gurney just behind Bruce and the billionaire realized that Dick was still lying on the paramedics’ gurney. Vomit spattered the sheets, despite Dick’s efforts to throw up over the side, and the pool of vomit on the floor would make it hard for the doctors to treat Dick without slipping. Dick relaxed a little and nodded. 

Dr. Lewis smiled at him. “Good boy. Mr. Wayne, do you need help?”

“No. I’ve got him.” Balancing the bedpan on Dick’s lap, Bruce slid his left arm beneath the boy’s knees and carefully lifted him up. Vomit from Dick’s sweatshirt smeared his jacket and Bruce grimaced. Alfred was going to kill him.

He placed Dick on the other gurney just as Dick gave a small mewl and a foul-smelling yellowish bile splattered into the pan. 

Bruce’s gut twisted when he realized that there was nothing left in Dick’s stomach to regurgitate and he was actually throwing up stomach acid. “Can’t you give him something?” he asked Dr. Lewis.

Looking unhappy, she shook her head. “Most methods of treating withdrawal are designed for addicts who are weaning off of heroin. Clonidine is used to alleviate withdrawal symptoms, but it’s a blood pressure medication and I’d rather not risk giving it to Dick considering he’s still recovering from increased ICP.”

“What about painkillers?” Bruce demanded. 

“Not an option until we know how much heroin he was given. The narcan reverses the effects of an opioid overdose, but it doesn’t expel the drug from a patient’s system – the heroin still needs to metabolize out of Dick’s system. And the paramedics’ notes state that he was drugged with chloroform as well, not to mention that he was probably released from the hospital on strong pain medication for his head and arm. As a paediatric patient, his system won’t tolerate a large intake of drugs, so I have to be cautious until we get a tox screen done.”

Bruce’s heart sank. How long was Dick going to have to endure this hell for?

Dick finished throwing up and leaned against Bruce, cold sweat now soaking his sweatshirt. The respite from throwing up gave the nurses a chance to reattach the IV and hook Dick up to several monitors, while Dr. Lewis began taking blood. Bruce was pleased to see that Dr. Koburn had disappeared because the man was obviously an ineffectual idiot. How he’d even become a doctor was a mystery.

“Temperature is ninety-five,” the shorter of the nurses told Dr. Lewis. “Pulse rate is sixty-three.”

“BP is up to ninety over seventy-eight,” added the second nurse.

“Dick, how’s your arm?” asked Dr. Lewis, not looking up as she withdrew blood.

“It hurts,” Dick croaked.

Dr. Lewis frowned. “On a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst, how bad does it hurt?” 

“Nine,” Dick whispered tiredly.

“They pulled his arm out of position so they could tie him up,” Bruce told the doctor through gritted teeth.

Dr. Lewis looked appalled. “We’ll organize for an X-ray to look at it, okay, Dick? And an MRI scan as well. I want to make sure there’s been no exacerbation of that head injury.”

Bruce nodded, but Dick didn’t respond. His whole frame was drooping despite the cold sweats and trembling. Bruce could practically feel his exhaustion.

Dr. Lewis finished withdrawing blood and handed three vials to one of the nurses. “Take this straight to toxicology and tell them to put a rush on it. Full tox screen, chem-seven, LFT, and blood gases.”

The nurse nodded and headed for the door, which opened just as she reached it, revealing Margaret Elliot and Dana Foster on the other side.

Bruce’s blood turned to ice. _Oh, Christ, not now!_

“Ms. Elliot,” Dr. Lewis frowned as the social worker entered, “how did you get back here?”

“One of the nurses directed us. Richard is still a ward of the state and I’m supposed to be here.”

“Please don’t make Bruce leave!” Dick cried at once.

“Richard,” the social worker told him gently, “Mr. Wayne really shouldn’t be–”

“Please let him stay! Please!” Dick begged. The monitors connected to him started to beep a little faster and Bruce moved to reassure him.

“Don’t worry, Dick. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Margaret said irritably, “that is not your decision to make.”

Bruce glared at her. “I’m not leaving him.”

“Mr. Wayne,” the social worker began, scowling, but was interrupted by Dick gagging and once more vomiting into the bedpan.

“Please don’t– ugh…make– ack…Bruce leave– guk…please…” he managed to gasp out between each retch and heave. 

The monitors were beeping frantically now and Bruce glanced at them in alarm. Dick’s heart-rate and blood pressure were sky-rocketing. “Dick, calm down. I’m not going anywhere. Just relax, okay?”

Dick gave a small whimper in response and gagged again, now expelling a putrid-smelling brown bile. Bruce felt his own iron-clad stomach churn a little. Jesus Christ. “It’s alright, kiddo, I’m not leaving, I promise,” he whispered to Dick, as the boy gagged and choked over the bedpan. He was shaking violently. “Just relax for me, please?”

Dick shook his head, clawing at the almost full bedpan in agitation. His sweatshirt was now saturated with cold sweat and vomit. They needed to get it off him.

“I’ll get another bedpan,” offered the nurse quietly and disappeared. 

“Mr. Wayne,” began Margaret again, and Bruce’s head jerked up to stare at her in disbelief. “I’m afraid that–”

“Ms. Elliot,” Dr. Lewis spoke up suddenly, interrupting her, “I know you have a job to do, but so do I. And right now, mine takes precedence. So I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave while I treat Dick.”

The social worker looked taken aback. “But…Mr. Wayne…”

“He stays,” said Dr. Lewis firmly, and Bruce glanced at her in surprise. 

Margaret opened her mouth to object, but Dana Foster laid a hand on her arm and spoke quietly. “Please don’t argue, Margaret. It’s only delaying Dick from getting the treatment he needs. Can’t you see how ill he is?”

The social worker’s mouth snapped shut and her gaze went to where Dick was hunched over the bedpan, retching. Something flickered in her eyes and her face took on a troubled look. 

Bruce didn’t have time to wonder what she was thinking because Dick suddenly collapsed against him, a shaking, gasping mess. His good arm was wrapped around his abdomen and Bruce could feel him trying to curl in on himself. The boy’s lips were pulled across his clenched teeth and his eyes were streaming – whether from real tears or the withdrawal, Bruce couldn’t tell. 

“I just…want it…to stop…” Dick half-sobbed and Bruce felt his heart break.

“I know, kiddo, I know,” he murmured, crooking the arm he had around Dick’s shoulders so he could stroke his hair. He felt totally fucking useless.

“We’ll get out of your way so you can work, Dr. Lewis,” Margaret Elliot announced, just as the nurse returned and replaced the almost full bedpan perched on Dick’s lap with an empty one. “Please let us know how Richard is when you’re done.”

Dr. Lewis gave an impatient half-wave, and the social worker followed Dana Foster out of the room. 

Bruce stared after them, stunned. What just happened? Why had Margaret Elliot given in so easily? In all of his dealings with the woman, he’d _never_ seen her so complacent. Was she really just leaving to let Dr. Lewis work? Or was it something else?

Dr. Lewis’ brisk voice interrupted his musings. “Dick, we need to get you out of those clothes and into a hospital gown so we can get you up to X-ray.”

Dick just stared at her miserably and the doctor’s expression softened a little. “I know you’re tired and hurting, but it’s really important that we get an MRI done. Once you’re finished with X-ray you’ll be able to get some rest, okay?”

“Okay,” Dick whispered tiredly. 

She smiled briefly and patted his arm. “Good boy.”

As Dr. Lewis and the nurse got to work on cutting off Dick’s soiled clothes, Bruce felt him tense in discomfort and embarrassment. Tightening his grip on Dick’s shoulders, Bruce murmured soothingly, “It’s okay, kiddo. This will all be over soon.”

He should have known better than to think it would be that easy.

oOo

It was hours before Dick got any rest.

Sitting by his bed, Bruce watched in exhausted relief as the boy _finally_ slept peacefully. The last few hours had been nothing short of hell for Dick. After Dr. Lewis and the ER nurse had removed his vomit-covered clothes and put a hospital gown on him, Dick had been wheeled up to radiology for an MRI. The nurse had just settled Dick in the machine and the technician was preparing to scan him when he’d been stricken by another round of nausea, throwing up all over himself before they could get him out. After getting him cleaned up, it had taken two further attempts before they could successfully perform the MRI because Dick was still vomiting sporadically.

After the MRI, Dick had been sleepy and hard to rouse, making Bruce think the worst of the withdrawal was finally wearing off. That relief was short-lived when a doctor who examined the almost non-responsive boy informed Bruce that the narcan was wearing off and Dick was slipping into overdose mode again. That reveal had necessitated another round of narcan, which had pushed Dick back into the acute withdrawal phase. As Bruce held Dick and watched him vomit up the putrid-smelling brown bile, he mentally swore bloody vengeance on the bastards who had done this to his son.

It wasn’t long before Dick seemed to run out of even stomach acid to throw up; retching and gagging into a bowl without any result, and groaning as his stomach spasmed painfully from the effort. It was at that point the doctor finally consented to giving Dick anti-nauseants to save him the agony of the dry heaves. Bruce understood why the hospital were being so cautious about giving Dick more drugs, but that knowledge did nothing to alleviate the horror of watching his son suffer through withdrawal.

It had taken another hour before the violent shaking had subsided enough for an X-ray to be taken of his arm, and only then had Dick been admitted. But even in the comfort of a proper bed, he found little rest. The withdrawal left him agitated, in pain, and unable to get warm. Bruce had watched him switch between tossing fitfully and shivering in a ball beneath the covers for what felt like forever, helpless to alleviate his suffering. It wasn’t until his tox screen came back that Dick was finally given some medication to ease the withdrawal and the pain in his broken arm.

Bruce leaned forward in his chair and stroked the fingers of Dick’s broken arm. The results of his X-ray had revealed that the pin in his broken arm had been twisted out of position; Dick would need more surgery to repin the bone. It filled Bruce with rage to think of what had been inflicted on his child.

Dick turned suddenly in his sleep, causing his dishevelled blankets to slip down a little. Bruce quickly got to his feet and pulled the blankets back up over Dick, then tucked him in more securely. When he was done, he rested a hand on the top of Dick’s head and gently stroked his hair. His heart ached to think of what Dick had been through – what they’d both been through – over the last few weeks. And the nightmare wasn’t over yet. Dick was still a ward of the state, and if Margaret Elliot’s behaviour in the trauma room was anything to go by, she was still against returning Dick to Bruce’s custody. 

A light knock sounded and Bruce looked up to see Dana Foster and Margaret Elliot standing in the doorway to Dick’s room. He tensed at once.

Speak of the devil.

“Please, don’t ask me to leave,” he said wearily, too drained to fight.

“I’m not going to,” the social worker responded quietly. “But may I speak to you for a moment?”

Bruce frowned at her, then glanced back down at Dick. The boy’s face was more peaceful than it had been, but a small crease lingered between his eyebrows. Bruce didn’t want to disturb him if he could help it. “Alright,” he conceded. “But let’s step outside. I don’t want to wake Dick.”

Following the two women into the hallway, Bruce was careful to remain where he could keep an eye on Dick.

“Has the withdrawal worn off yet?” asked Dana anxiously. 

“Not yet,” said Bruce tiredly. “It’ll take another few hours before it tapers off completely, but he’s over the worst of it. And they were able to give him something for the pain once his tox screen came back, so at least he’s comfortable.” 

Dana bit her lip. “Dr. Lewis told us that it was too dangerous to give him anything until they knew the level of drugs in his system.”

Bruce gave an angry snort. “She wasn’t wrong about that. Between the chloroform and the heroin, the levels in his system were so toxic that I don’t know how it didn’t kill him.”

“What about Richard’s head injury?” the social worker spoke up, her face retaining the troubled expression it had worn in the trauma room. “Was there any exacerbation of that?”

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know. His MRI hasn’t come back yet…but his X-ray did. The pin in his arm was pulled out of position; he’s going to need more surgery. God knows how long it’s going to take him to recover from all this.”

He couldn’t keep the accusatory tone out of his voice, but instead of making the social worker defensive, she flinched. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne,” she said quietly. 

Bruce blinked and stared at her. The last thing he had been expecting was an apology.

“I’m returning Richard to your custody,” she continued, making Bruce’s mouth fall open in shock. “CPS are closing their investigation.”

“Why?” Bruce managed, not quite able to believe this. “What’s changed?”

She sighed. “Your actions in the trauma room showed genuine concern for Richard. But more importantly, the evidence supports what Richard told me. I should have returned him to your care over a week ago. If I had, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.” 

Something resembling devastation slipped into her expression. “My job is to protect children, not put them in situations where they can be put at risk. Richard had to suffer through something horrific because I removed him from your care…because I couldn’t see through my own bias. I didn’t listen to what the evidence – and Richard – was telling me, and it nearly got him killed. I won’t be making that mistake again.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“I’m retiring. If my inability to see clearly can hurt children, then I’m doing more harm than good in this position.”

Bruce had no idea what to say. To any of it. Part of him wondered if this was even happening. It couldn’t be that easy. 

But as his eyes wandered back to Dick in the hospital bed, he reminded himself that it hadn’t been easy. It had been utter hell. He returned his attention to the social worker. “So it’s all over? Just like that?”

She nodded. “Please tell Richard that I’m sorry for everything and I hope he feels better soon.”

Bruce frowned. He was missing something here, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. 

Margaret turned to the woman beside her. “Dana, I need to get back to the office after all this. Can we finish our meeting tomorrow?”

Dana nodded. “Of course. But I hope you’ll reconsider retiring, Margaret. One mistake doesn’t make you bad at your job.”

“That depends on the magnitude of the mistake,” she countered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dana. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”

The social worker left and Dana stared after her, a troubled expression on her face. “I really hope she doesn’t retire because of this. She’s one of the best caseworkers in the city.”

“She is?” said Bruce sceptically. That had most definitely not been his experience of her.

Dana turned back to him. “I know what happened with Dick makes it difficult for you to believe that, but she’s a good woman who only wants what’s best for the children in her care. Believe me, Mr. Wayne, it wasn’t an easy thing to hear that her personal bias was partly responsible for what happened to Dick, and it takes a big person to admit that they’re wrong and apologize as graciously as she just did.”

And the missing piece clicked into place. Bruce narrowed his eyes at Dana. “You talked to her, didn’t you? You’re the reason she listened to sense.”

“She would have come to the right decision eventually. I just pushed her there a little faster, that’s all.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, impressed that Dana had been able to get through to the hard-headed social service worker. “Did you ever think of going into negotiation?”

Dana laughed. “I foster troubled teenagers, Mr. Wayne, ninety percent of what I do involves negotiation!”

Bruce gave a wry grin. “You make a good point.” Then his expression grew serious. “I want to thank you, Mrs. Foster, and not just for what you did with Ms. Elliot. Dick talked to me a little before he fell asleep…he told me how kind you were to him.” 

Her expression softened. “It was my pleasure, Mr. Wayne. He’s a very sweet boy.”

“I know. But still, if you ever need anything–” Bruce fished a business card out of his soiled trousers, having discarded his destroyed jacket hours ago, “–please don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

Dana took the card and studied it thoughtfully, before looking up at Bruce. “Actually, Mr. Wayne, I would like to ask you a favour. But not for me.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a little wary. “Oh?”

“It’s for Nate.”

“Nate. You mean the boy who was responsible for Dick’s kidnapping?”

“He didn’t intend for any of that to happen,” Dana replied softly. “And he feels awful. He was awake all night worrying about Dick, and when that news report showed Dick being brought out on a gurney from the motel…” her voice trailed off and she bit her lip. “He didn’t take it very well.”

“News report,” Bruce repeated, frowning. “Is that how you and Ms. Elliot knew Dick was here?”

Dana nodded. “Margaret was at my house when the news broke. We came straight here.”

Bruce’s scowl deepened. So that’s how they’d gotten here so fast. Damn media. They must have aired the story before the ambulance had even left the motel.

“The point is,” Dana continued quietly, “that news report really upset Nate. He feels horribly guilty about what happened and I don’t want that guilt to set back all the progress he’s made since he came to live with us. I think if he could just apologize to Dick–”

“You want me to let him see Dick?” Bruce interjected furiously. “After what he did?!”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Mr. Wayne, but please believe me, Nate never intended for anything to happen to Dick. He just lost his temper and made a mistake.”

“A mistake that nearly cost Dick his _life!_ ” 

“But still a mistake,” Dana reminded him gently. “Nate is a fifteen-year-old boy who’s had a very difficult childhood. He didn’t get the same chance that other children did and that’s made learning certain lessons harder for Nate. But he’s trying, Mr. Wayne, he really is. Please give him the chance to make right his mistake…let him see that one slip up doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep trying.”

Bruce pursed his lips. He was aware of the boy’s past. Leaving nothing to chance after Nate’s confession the night before, he had checked into the history of every person in the Foster household. As a result he knew just how viciously Nate had been abused by his stepfather, how many group homes and detention centres he had been in, and the long list of delinquencies he had committed. But Bruce was also aware that Nate hadn’t committed a single crime since coming to stay with the Fosters four months ago.

“Alright,” he conceded reluctantly. “He can see Dick. But not until Dick is feeling better.”

Dana smiled gratefully. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, call me Bruce.”

Her smile widened. “Only if you call me Dana.”

“Dana,” Bruce repeated, holding his hand out for her to shake, which she did.

“I’ll contact you to arrange the best time for visiting Dick,” she told Bruce, letting go of his hand. “But for now, I’m going to leave and let you spend some time with him. I’m sure you missed him as much as he missed you while you were apart.”

“You have no idea,” said Bruce fervently. “Thank you, Dana.”

“Goodbye, Bruce,” she rejoined warmly, before leaving.

Bruce returned to the room and sat into the chair by Dick’s bed to resume his vigil. He felt the god-awful weight of the last few weeks lift from his shoulders and exhaled in relief. He had his son back. Dick was coming home. Bruce would never again let someone take his boy from him.

The relieved smile dropped from his face when he realized that he was now faced with the decision he had postponed two weeks ago; whether or not he should retire Robin. With a soft groan, Bruce buried his head in his hands. Dick would never forgive him if he retired Robin! Dick loved being Robin, it was part of who he was…the boy would be miserable if he took that away from him.

But they couldn’t afford another injury either. Bruce knew he and Dick would be watched closely from here on out. If Dick suffered even so much as a black eye, it might be grounds to reopen the CPS investigation. And Bruce couldn’t let that happen. Aside from the fact that he couldn’t bear the idea of losing his son again, Dick would be vulnerable to anyone who considered him a target; the media, people looking to profit from stories about him and Bruce, kidnappers… 

Bruce swallowed as he lifted his head up to look at Dick. This was the second time in less than a year he had almost lost his son because of kidnappers, and it had happened despite half the city believing he was guilty of abusing Dick! The terrifying reality was that Dick would always be a target because the wrong people knew just how much he mattered to Bruce. And if the last few weeks had taught Bruce anything, it was that even the best efforts of CPS were totally useless at keeping the boy safe, and Dick might not be so lucky the next time. If he wanted to make sure this hell never happened again, Bruce had no choice but to make the hard decision…

Robin was finished.


	18. Chapter 18

Someone was talking to him. That was the first thing that occurred to Dick. The second was that he knew the voice. With great effort, he forced his eyes open and blinked several times until a familiar face hovering over him came into view.

Dick was getting a little tired of waking up and finding people hovering over him.

The face smiled. “Hey, kiddo, how are you feeling?”

Bruce. Dick squinted up at his guardian, feeling confused, but not exactly sure why. “Wher’m I?” he croaked. Jeez, he sounded like crap.

“The hospital,” Bruce answered, his smile fading as he stared down at him in concern. “Don’t you remember?”

“Uh…” Dick blinked again and fuzzy images filtered back to him: harsh voices, rough handling and _pain_. And hadn’t he thrown up in there somewhere? The images sharpened, memories slowly returning to Dick. “The kidnappers…” He swallowed, throat feeling dry and sore. “How did I…?”

“The police rescued you,” Bruce explained quietly. “You were brought to the hospital because the kidnappers gave you drugs that made you overdose. Do you remember that?”

The memory of violently throwing up until it felt like his stomach was tearing itself away from his body made Dick wince and he nodded. He wouldn’t soon forget that. “What did they give me?” 

Anger flashed across Bruce’s face. “Heroin.”

Dick’s heart missed a beat. He’d been given _heroin?!_ A hard-core narcotic? He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that.

“Are you okay?” asked Bruce.

“I guess…” Dick shrugged, then grimaced when the movement sent painful twangs shuddering down his arm. He opened his mouth to speak again, but coughed instead. Jeez, his throat really felt raw.

“Do you want a drink?” Bruce asked.

Dick nodded and Bruce opened the bottle of water on his bedside table, then poured it into a glass. Dropping a straw into the glass, he tilted it towards Dick so he could drink.

Dick sipped thirstily, the cool water feeling insanely good against his scratchy throat. When he’d drank his fill, he sank back into the pillow and tried to sort through the fog and confusion in his head. Something was niggling at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. At the moment, his brain only seemed capable of processing the fact that he’d been given heroin.

“Bruce, I don’t understand. How can people get…addicted to that stuff? It– it’s really bad.” Really bad was an understatement. It had literally been hell and Dick never wanted to experience it again. How could anyone willingly put themselves through that? 

Bruce sighed. “I assume you’re talking about how ill you were?” 

Dick nodded.

“It wasn’t the heroin that made you throw up like that, it was the withdrawal.”

“But…I’m not an addict…” Dick said slowly.

“I know. But those men gave you enough heroin to overdose and you needed a drug called narcan to reverse the effects of the overdose. Unfortunately, narcan can cause withdrawal and that’s what made you so ill.”

Dick stared at his guardian, still struggling to wrap his head around all this. He’d been given heroin and had gone through withdrawal – which beyond sucked! No wonder heroin addicts had such a hard time trying to quit. 

“You still haven’t answered my first question,” Bruce commented, his eyes fixed on Dick. Searching. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Dick admitted, trying to straighten his jumbled thoughts. He still felt like he was missing something. “And my arm hurts. A lot.”

Bruce scowled. “Those bastards twisted your arm so much that the pin was wrenched out of position. You’re scheduled for surgery tomorrow to fix it.”

“Great,” Dick muttered. More surgery. Awesome.

Bruce squeezed his hand in sympathy, and Dick felt the reason for his lingering confusion hit him. He bolted upright, ignoring the pain that flared through his arm. “Bruce, how are you here? CPS…”

“Relax, kiddo,” said Bruce soothingly, a genuine smile stretching across his face. “On that front I have good news: CPS dropped the charges. They no longer believe I’m abusing you.”

“You mean…I can come home?” Dick whispered, not daring to believe it.

“Absolutely, kiddo,” Bruce replied, his voice thick with emotion.

Dick stared for a fraction of a second before throwing himself at his guardian in relief. Bruce responded by wrapping his arms around Dick and hugging him tightly. Closing his eyes, Dick inhaled the familiar smell of Bruce’s cologne. Home. He was going home. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe.

After several minutes, they both leaned back and smiled at each other, Bruce gripping Dick’s good shoulder with one hand, while his other cupped the side of Dick’s head. Dick held on to Bruce’s arm with his good hand, not ready to let go of his guardian just yet.

“When do I get to go home?” he wanted to know.

Bruce’s smile faded a little. “Not for a few days. You have surgery tomorrow, and the doctors want to monitor you. They think you might have had a seizure while you were drugged.”

Dick’s heart quickened a little. “Don’t seizures cause brain damage?”

“Sometimes, but that’s usually as a result of grand-mal seizures and if, _if_ , you had a seizure – the doctors still aren’t sure – then it was a partial seizure brought on by the drugs. Besides, there’s no sign of long-term damage in any of your scans.”

“Then why do they want to monitor me?”

“They’re just being cautious, especially after your head injury. You went through quite an ordeal, kiddo,” Bruce said, stroking Dick’s hair.

Dick couldn’t help nodding in agreement. “What happened? To the kidnappers?”

“They were arrested. They go before a judge tomorrow, but Gordon is going to do his best to make sure they’re denied bail until the trial.”

“How’d they know where to find me?” Dick asked. It was unnerving how quickly he’d been targeted in the foster home.

Bruce opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, there was a knock at the door. Dick rolled his eyes. The timing of these things was beyond clichéd sometimes!

A security guard entered. “Mr. Wayne? I have someone here who says she’s a friend of your boy. She’s pretty insistent.”

Dick glanced at his guardian because why did he still have security? 

“Name?” demanded Bruce, shoulders stiffening in suspicion.

“Artemis Crock,” the guard responded.

“Dick?” Bruce queried, pretending not to know her for both the guard and Artemis’ benefit. 

“I want to see her,” said Dick at once, not even caring enough to question why Artemis was here to see him; they didn’t interact as civilians other than when he trolled her, but Dick hadn’t seen any of his friends in weeks and he missed them, especially Wally.

Bruce nodded to the guard, who beckoned to someone in the hall. Artemis entered and the security guard left the room, closing the door behind him with a crisp _click._

“Hi, Dick,” she said quietly, coming towards the bed after throwing a wary glance at Bruce. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” he replied, beaming at her. Yes, it was weird that she was here to see him in his civilian persona but man, was he glad to see her! “Thanks for coming to see me, Artemis.”

She shrugged. “I wanted to see how you are. And–” she reached into her jacket pocket, “–I also wanted to return this to you.” She pulled something out and offered it to him.

Slightly confused, Dick took the proffered item and felt his breath catch in his throat. It was the photograph of him and his parents that Ryan Johnson had taken from his locker and tried to destroy. Dumbfounded, he looked up at Artemis. “How did you…?”

“I found it at the bottom of the stairs at school,” Artemis explained quietly. “I figured you should have it back.”

Dick carefully ran his thumb across his parents’ smiling faces. Other than the rip Ryan had made and the photo being a little crumpled, it didn’t seem too battered. “Thank you,” he whispered, a lump in his throat.

“No problem.” Artemis made an awkward move, somewhere between a shrug and a nod. “Ryan got suspended, you know…for what happened.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah, two whole weeks.”

“Jerk deserved it,” Dick mumbled. 

“Yeah.”

An uncomfortable silence fell and Dick was unsure how to break it; he didn’t know how to talk to Artemis without revealing himself as Robin, and it was clear that she was struggling with something as well. Her usual confidence had been replaced with uncertainty.

It was Bruce who came to their rescue. “Miss…Crock?” he addressed her in his ‘Brucie’ voice, smiling and holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Artemis returned the handshake whilst biting her lip. After a moment, she took a deep breath and said a little shakily, “Actually, Mr. Wayne, we have met before.”

“Oh?” said Bruce. His tone was light, but Dick could hear caution creep into it and felt his own guard go up: Artemis had never met Bruce Wayne before. Dick was one hundred percent certain of that.

“Yes,” said Artemis, more firmly. “Dick and I share some extracurricular activities. We met then.”

There was only one thing she could possibly be talking about. Dick sucked in a breath and shot a shocked glance at his guardian. How the heck did Artemis find out?!

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, his face hardening into the same impassive façade that he wore as Batman. “I remember now, Miss Crock. And how are the rest of your friends?”

He was talking in code now. Dick knew he wanted to know if the rest of the team knew Batman and Robin’s identities. Truth be told, Dick was kind of anxious to know that too. People always treated him differently when they found out what he was to Bruce Wayne.

“They’re fine,” Artemis answered carefully. “The same as when you saw them last.”

“But how did _you_ know?” Dick blurted, then hastened to amend his question. “I mean, about my arm and…stuff?”

“You mean aside from it being all over the news?” Artemis replied drily, the stiffness in her voice now dissipating. “I was there when the paramedics took you out of school after your fall.” She nodded towards his arm. “That cast is really unusual. I’ve only ever seen one like it before.”

 _Yeah, on Robin_. Dick sighed. Artemis seeing the cast and making the connection between Robin and Dick Grayson was exactly what he had been afraid of from the start. “I guess it is pretty distinctive, huh?”

Artemis nodded. “Does it hurt?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Dick admitted. “I need surgery tomorrow.”

“What! Why?” Artemis demanded, eyes flashing in concern.

“The kidnappers weren’t exactly gentle. They pulled the pin out of position when they tied me up.”

Artemis looked angry now. “They didn’t care that you were already hurt?”

Dick snorted in response. So long as he was alive for them to get their money, his kidnappers hadn’t cared what he suffered. Even with what he knew about people from his time as Robin, it was still hard to swallow that someone could hurt him like that for money.

“Artemis, how did you know Dick was here?” Bruce interjected. “I gave instructions that his room number wasn’t to be given to anyone.”

Dick glanced at his guardian. There was concern in his voice and his eyes were tight; Bruce was worried about another kidnap attempt. Dick understood now why he still had security on his door. 

“The mother of one of my friends from Gotham North is a nurse here,” Artemis answered. “She knows I go to Gotham Academy now, so when I told her Dick was a friend of mine, she found out his room number for me. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she added to Dick. “I was worried.”

“Why didn’t you come to see me while I was here last week?”

“I tried. CPS weren’t letting anyone in to see you.” Artemis shrugged. “When I saw the news this morning saying that CPS had dropped their case, I thought I’d try again.”

“I’m glad you did,” Dick told her honestly. “I really missed you guys. How is everyone?”

“Worried about you. Not knowing how you are has them on edge.” Artemis snorted. “And Wally is driving everyone up the walls: I think he might have a meltdown if he doesn’t talk to you soon.”

Dick shot his guardian an exasperated look because of course Bruce hadn’t bothered to let the team know how he was!

Bruce understood his exasperation at once. “I had other concerns, Dick.”

“You could have given them some kind of update,” Dick said reproachfully.

“I haven’t seen your friends since you were taken into care. And like I said, I had bigger things to worry about.”

Dick softened. He could see that this had been as hard on Bruce as it had on him. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

Bruce patted his hand in understanding and out of the corner of his eye, Dick was aware of Artemis jerking a little. He glanced at her and saw that her eyebrows were practically arched into her hairline. Her reaction surprised Dick until he remembered, oh, right. She was used to Batman, not Bruce.

“I’ll call Wally later,” he promised Artemis. “And as soon as I get out of here, I’ll come visit everyone.”

“They’ll be really happy to see you.” She hesitated before adding, “Dick, about my–”

A loud bang and raised voices from outside the room drowned out the rest of her words. Bruce was immediately on his feet and planted himself at the foot of Dick’s bed facing the door. 

Dick cringed because such overprotection was a little embarrassing in front of Artemis…until he realized that Artemis had done the exact same thing. Dick sighed a little. _Really, guys?_

The voices outside were getting louder, turning into yells, and Dick recognized one of them. He felt a little burst of happiness as the door crashed open, revealing a very disgruntled security guard wrestling with a familiar red-headed figure. 

“I swear!” Wally was yelling. “Dick’s my best friend! Just ask him!”

“Son,” the security guard grunted. “I’m not going to tell you again–”

Bruce stepped forward. “Henry, it’s alright. He can come in.” He glared at Wally who shrank a little under the billionaire’s formidable glare.

“I– I just wanted to see Dick,” Wally stammered. 

“Then enter the room, Wallace,” said Bruce slowly in a quiet voice.

Dick winced on his friend’s behalf because Bruce had a way of making his quiet voice sound way more intimidating than any raised one ever could. Wally blanched and slunk into the room, mumbling apologies under his breath. 

“Thank you, Henry,” said Bruce to the security guard, who nodded and once more closed the door. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Wally dashed over to the bed and threw himself on Dick, hugging him tightly. “Dude, are you okay? Why didn’t you call me? I tried to see you but they wouldn’t let me see you! Do you know how hard it is to watch everything on the news?! Man, it’s so good to see you! What–”

“Wally, air,” Dick wheezed over his best friend’s babbling because the speedster was squeezing him kind of tight.

Wally let go at once. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Dick rolled his eyes and grinned. “Of course not, doofus. And I’m happy to see you too.”

Wally beamed. “I’m really glad you’re okay, man. I’ve been so–” He stopped midsentence as he caught sight of Artemis in the corner she had backed into as soon as he had entered the room. Dick was surprised to see how trapped she looked, before realizing that her being here would reveal her secret identity to Wally.

Crap and double crap.

Wally was goggling at Artemis, his mouth hanging open. “What are you…how are you…? I mean…” He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Knitting! What’s it look like I’m doing?” she snapped sarcastically, her defences already up.

But Wally was too confused to rise to the bait. Instead he sent Dick a questioning look.

“We have some extracurricular activities together,” Dick told him pointedly, trying to let Wally know that Artemis knew he was Robin without revealing that they went to school together. Secrets were hard, especially when they were someone else’s secrets.

“Oh.” Wally’s eyes took on a hurt look. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Dick knew what Wally was thinking; that Dick had revealed his secret ID to Artemis and not bothered to tell Wally something so huge. He bit his lip. He couldn’t reassure Wally without outing Artemis. 

After a long moment, Artemis gave a heavy sigh. “Alright, fine. Dick and I go to school together. We were just talking about his cast and the fact that it’s exactly like one a friend of mine has. I thought it was pretty funny that they both have such a weird cast on the same arm.”

Wally looked even more confused. “His cast? I don’t…ohhhhhhh!” he exclaimed, comprehension dawning on his face. Then he frowned. “You go to school together?”

Dick had a feeling that if anyone was listening, they would be well and truly confused by this conversation. It was full of double meanings that wouldn’t make a lick of sense. Which was fortunate because Bruce’s scowl told Dick his guardian was less than happy with how this conversation was unfolding. They needed to sidetrack it before any potential eavesdroppers got suspicious.

“Yeah, I thought you knew that,” Dick told Wally, shaking his head and frowning. 

Wally took the hint to drop it. “Oh…yeah. I forgot.”

He scowled suspiciously at Artemis and Dick knew that he would have this out with her afterwards. And while he hated that Artemis was now in the uncomfortable position of having to come up with a believable lie or else tell Wally a truth she didn’t want to share, Dick was relieved to steer the conversation into safer territory.

“So,” he grinned at Wally. “What did you say to get the security guard so riled up?”

Wally looked offended. “Hey, what makes you think it was me?”

“He didn’t have any problem announcing Artemis.”

“Are you serious?! He let her in but he had a problem letting me in? Why?”

“Maybe because you opened your mouth?” Artemis sniped, and Dick couldn’t help but snicker. Annoying people was something of a Wally speciality. There was a good chance he had said something that had irritated the guard enough to try and get rid of him, instead of announcing him like he had Artemis.

Wally glared at her. “This coming from the girl who’s probably better at hostile takeovers than she is at peaceful negotiation?”

“Like peaceful negotiation is an option with someone like you around!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m a joy to be around!”

Dick started to laugh. God, he’d missed his friends.

oOo

When Dick came around the next afternoon after the surgery on his arm, Bruce was relieved to see that he finally looked comfortable; the awful, pinched look of pain he’d worn since he was rescued finally gone.

“You look better,” he commented, taking Dick’s hand and sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I feel better,” Dick mumbled sleepily. “’S m’arm okay?

“It’s going to be fine, kiddo. It will take longer to heal and you’re going to need some intensive physio when the cast comes off, but there’ll be no long-term repercussions.”

“Cool.” Dick blinked drowsily, the residual anaesthesia still clouding his eyes. “When can I go home?”

“I don’t know yet. The doctors want to monitor you, remember?” It was obvious that Dick was eager to go home, and after the hell of the last few weeks, Bruce was anxious to take him home. But not until the doctors said he was ready. Bruce had been shaken by the reveal that Dick may have had a seizure while under the influence of the heroin, and that he could still be susceptible to one, so for once, he was going to heed the doctors and not discharge Dick early just because he wanted to take him home.

Dick didn’t exactly look thrilled by Bruce’s answer, but he didn’t argue about it either. Bruce guessed he was still exhausted by his ordeal and didn’t have the energy to engage in his usual protests against being bedbound.

The billionaire surreptitiously clenched the hand that wasn’t holding onto Dick’s. He was still seething at the violence that had been inflicted on his child. That the men responsible were denied bail this morning did nothing to allay that rage because some primal part of Bruce wanted blood for what they’d done, even though the rational part of him kept insisting that wasn’t how justice worked. It was hard to listen to reason when his son had suffered so much.

“Where’s Alfred?” Dick wanted to know.

“He went home an hour ago, because he needs to fetch some paperwork for Kevin Green. But he’ll be back later, okay?”

“What paperwork? I thought CPS had dropped the charges?”

There was a hint of panic in Dick’s voice and Bruce rushed to soothe him. “They have, kiddo. That’s all over and no one is going to take you from me again, I promise. Kevin is just tying up some loose ends, that’s all.”

 _And putting in motion the means to ensure reporters never harass you again,_ Bruce added silently. He didn’t want to mention it to the exhausted boy just yet. The less Dick had to worry or think about in his current state the better. It hadn’t escaped Bruce’s notice that he was more overwrought than usual. Dick’s neurologist, Dr. Phillips, had assured him that Dick’s somewhat tumultuous emotional state was probably as a result of his head injury; the amygdale – an area of the brain responsible for emotion – had been one of the regions affected by the ICP. He’d told Bruce that once Dick had fully recovered, it should no longer be an issue. 

Bruce scowled to himself. Dick should be in a better state than this. What those bastards had done to him had created problems that would prolong the boy’s recovery, and god, how he longed to make them pay.

“You’re really sure it’s all over?” Dick pressed, and the naked fear in his voice made Bruce flinch because he knew only too well what that fear felt like. It had been terrifying to think he might lose Dick to the system, and now that he had him back, Bruce was going to make sure he never lost him again. Even if doing so meant Robin would never fly again.

“I’m one hundred percent certain, kiddo,” he replied firmly. 

Dick smiled in relief and squeezed Bruce’s hand. The billionaire squeezed gently back just as a knock sounded at the door.

“Mr. Wayne?” said a security guard, popping his head around the door. “I have some people here who are asking to see your boy.”

Bruce frowned. Dick needed to rest. The visit with Wally and Artemis the day before had left him utterly exhausted. “Who is it?”

“They said their names are Dana and Nate.”

Shit. Bruce hadn’t had time to tell Dick about Nate’s role in his kidnapping; Artemis had interrupted before he could answer the boy’s question about how his kidnappers had found him, and then Wally had arrived. Dick had fallen asleep almost immediately after they left, so between that and the surgery this morning there had been no time to fill him in. Bruce was more than a little angry at Dana for coming without calling. She’d assured him she would call first, _and_ that she’d give Dick a few days to recover!

He glanced at Dick, who was now sitting upright on the bed, looking surprised and a little worried, gnawing at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Why are they here?” he asked Bruce anxiously. “Is this something to do with CPS?”

Dammit. Despite Bruce’s assurances, Dick was still on edge about that. “Dick, I promise, this has nothing to do with that. You can send them in,” he directed to the security guard.

The guard’s head disappeared and seconds later, Dana and Nate appeared in the doorway. 

“Mr. Wayne, I’m so sorry to just arrive like this,” Dana apologized at once. “I’ve been calling but I kept getting your voicemail.” 

“My phone is dead,” Bruce explained, gesturing to where the device was plugged in. “I wasn’t expecting any calls today,” he added pointedly.

“I know and I’m sorry,” said Dana again. “But Nate was quite anxious to see Dick.”

Her tone was weighted with meaning, and Bruce’s eyes went to the teenager standing beside her. Nate was pale, even paler than Dick, with dark circles beneath his eyes. His hair was rumpled while his face carried a wild, panicked look. Bruce frowned when he spotted blood on his shirt and a bandage on his right hand. Something had clearly happened.

He nodded for them to enter, and Dana smiled at Dick as they approached the bed. “Hi, sweetheart, how are you feeling?” she greeted Dick softly.

Dick returned the smile. “Much better, thanks, Dana. Hi, Nate,” he added to the older boy.

Nate just stared at him before blurting, “I’m sorry!”

Dick blinked. “Nate, what–?”

“I’m sorry!” Nate babbled again, his whole stature full of nothing but nerves and tension. “I _swear,_ I didn’t mean for this to happen! I–”

“Nate,” Bruce cut across him, quietly but firmly. “Dick doesn’t know.”

The teenager looked like he’d been slapped. “He…doesn’t know?”

“Know what?” Dick demanded, although Bruce saw an edge of comprehension and disbelief dawn on his face.

“It was my fault you got kidnapped,” Nate cut in before Bruce could explain. “It was all my fault!”

Dick stared at him. “You…what?”

“I told my friends, I told my friends you were staying with us,” Nate said in a rush. “One of them– his dad– they did it! Dick, I’m really sorry, man! I’m so sorry!”

Dick didn’t respond, just remained staring at Nate. Bruce could see him struggling to come to terms with the reveal.

“I’m sorry,” repeated Nate in a whisper.

“It’s not your fault,” Bruce spoke up, surprising everyone, including himself – he’d been so angry at Nate after Dick was kidnapped. But it was hard to stay angry when the boy was so clearly wracked with guilt over it. “Yes, you told your friends that Dick was staying with you, but you had no reason to think that anything like this would happen, and you certainly didn’t intend for him to get hurt. Not to mention the fact that your honesty was what saved Dick. The police wouldn’t have been able to find him if you hadn’t spoken up.” Bruce didn’t add that if Nate hadn’t spoken up, Dick would be dead right now. He had a feeling that knowledge would only increase the boy’s guilt tenfold.

Nate’s lower lip was trembling. “But if I’d k-kept quiet like Dana told us to, this wouldn’t have happened…”

“Maybe not,” Bruce conceded. “But you still didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and you spoke up when it mattered. That’s what counts.”

Nate stared at Bruce with wide, haunted eyes.

“Bruce is right, Nate,” said Dick finally, his voice quiet. “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I’m…I’m really _sorry,_ ” Nate whispered.

“It’s okay, Nate. I don’t blame you,” said Dick, giving the older boy a reassuring smile.

Bruce hid a small smile of his own. He had never been prouder of Dick than he was at that moment. Despite the hell he had suffered on account of Nate’s thoughtlessness, Dick still didn’t blame the other boy. Bruce knew Dick could see the guilt that was eating at Nate and wanted only to make him feel better. His actions reminded Bruce of just how strong a sense of right and wrong Dick had, despite his age. His inherent sense of fair play was what made him such a good crime-fighter.

For the first time since Bruce had decided to retire Robin, a little nugget of doubt crept in.

“You should blame me,” said Nate miserably. “I deserve it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Dick insisted. “You told your friends about me before I tutored you, didn’t you?”

Nate nodded, shamefaced. 

“So that means you didn’t know that kidnapping could be a threat when you said it to them, because we didn’t talk about kidnapping until after your geometry test.” A look of understanding crossed Dick’s face. “Wait a minute, that’s why you were so freaked out when I told you about being kidnapped before!”

Nate nodded again. “I was gonna tell Dana what I’d done after that, but…but those guys showed up first.” He swallowed, the bleakness in his eyes unsettling on such a young face. “I…I just wish I could take it back.”

Dick shot Bruce and Dana a helpless look. “Nate, please don’t blame yourself for what a bunch of jerks did.”

“But it’s my fault! They wouldn’t have known where to find you if it wasn’t for me! You ended up in the hospital because of me!”

“I also ended up back with Bruce because of you,” Dick rejoined quietly.

Nate jerked a little. “Huh? How?”

“CPS dropped their investigation. And I don’t think they would have done that if this hadn’t happened.”

“Dick is right,” Bruce spoke up. “His kidnapping helped CPS to realize that Dick is safer in my care.” Not to mention that it gave Margaret Elliot a chance to see firsthand how much Dick mattered to him in the ER. 

“So if you think about it, I should really be thanking you,” Dick concluded. 

“I…” Nate glanced at Dana in confusion. Bruce could tell that he clearly hadn’t been expecting this response.

Dana put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s like I’ve been telling you, sweetie, this wasn’t your fault.”

“But…I’m the reason those guys knew where to find Dick…”

“That doesn’t make you responsible for their actions,” Bruce pointed out gruffly. He could see that Nate’s distress was upsetting Dick, and he wanted that helpless expression _off_ his child’s face. “You’re only responsible for your own actions, which you were brave enough to own up to. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“So please stop feeling bad,” Dick added. 

The older teenager slumped from the tense, rigid pose he’d been holding. He shook his head at Dick. “I don’t get it – why don’t you hate me? I’d hate me; I was a total jerk to you even before all this.”

“And you apologized for that,” Dick countered. “We just got off on the wrong foot, that’s all. I have no reason to hate you, Nate.”

Nate chewed on his lip. “You really don’t think it’s my fault?”

Dick gave an emphatic head shake. “Definitely not.”

“Thanks, Dick,” said Nate quietly. “That’s really cool of you.”

“So, do you think you can stop blaming yourself now?” Dana asked, squeezing Nate’s shoulder before removing her hand. 

Nate gave an awkward shrug in response. Bruce could tell that while he wasn’t so riddled with guilt as he had been when he’d entered the room, he still felt responsible. It was progress for a boy who, up until a few months ago, spent his free time boosting cars and vandalizing property. Bruce wished that more boys in Nate’s situation could meet people like Dana. Maybe then fewer of them would grow up to be criminals that Batman had to put away.

“Hey, Nate, what happened to your hand?” asked Dick, changing the subject suddenly. 

The older boy glanced down at the bandaged appendage and grimaced. “Um…I sort of hit something.”

“What did you hit?”

“A mirror,” Nate mumbled sheepishly. 

Dick looked appalled. “What! Seriously? Nate!”

“I know, I know! It was a stupid move.”

“One that he won’t pull again because he’s learned his lesson, isn’t that right, Nate?” Dana cut in, her eyebrows pointed and stern.

The teenager nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry I caused such trouble.”

Her face softened. “It’s alright, honey. Just so long as you don’t do it again; I was worried about you.”

“You were?” Nate seemed surprised. 

Dana clucked. “Of course I was. Nate, you’re part of our family now and that means we _care_ about what happens to you!”

Nate looked like he didn’t know what to say to that. Dana sighed and squeezed his arm. “We’ll talk about this more at home, okay? For now, you’ve seen Dick and I think it’s time we let him get some rest, okay?”

Nate nodded and gave her a small smile, which Dana returned before turning to Dick and grasping his good hand gently. “Dick, sweetie, I’m really glad you’re okay. It was lovely having you stay with us, but I’m much happier to see you going home with Mr. Wayne again.”

“Me too,” Dick agreed. “But thanks for being so nice to me, Dana. I’d like to call and see you sometime, if that’s okay?”

“You are welcome anytime, sweetheart,” she said, giving him a hug. “But just concentrate on getting well first, alright?”

Dick nodded.

“Mr. Wayne,” Dana turned to face Bruce while Nate said his goodbyes to Dick. “I’m very grateful to you for letting us see Dick. Thank you.”

“It’s alright. I get the feeling you were here anyway.” He glanced meaningfully at Nate’s bandaged hand as they walked away from the bed and towards the door.

She sighed and nodded. “I was in the ER when I started calling you. When Nate put his hand through that mirror, I realized that the only thing that would calm him down was letting him see Dick. I know that sounds strange but he’s been in such a state ever since Dick was kidnapped, and it doesn’t help that he has so many issues – being the bad guy or the bully is a big one. It mightn’t seem that big to anyone else, but Nate is _terrified_ of turning out like his stepfather.”

“Somehow I don’t think that will happen under your influence.”

She smiled warmly. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Mr. Wayne.”

“I thought we agreed you’d call me Bruce?”

She laughed. “What can I say, I thought it best to err on the side of caution since we called uninvited!”

“Uninvited does not mean unwelcome,” Bruce replied. 

Nate joined them and looked up nervously at Bruce. “Thanks for letting me see Dick, Mr. Wayne.”

“You’re welcome.” Bruce held out his hand. “And thank you for speaking up when it mattered. Dick is safe because you did.”

Nate stared nervously at Bruce’s outstretched hand for a moment before gingerly shaking it. 

“It’s okay to make mistakes, Nate,” Bruce told him. “We all make mistakes. The important thing is taking responsibility for them. Remember that, okay?” Nate nodded and turned to Dana. 

“Let’s go home, honey,” she said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. 

With a wave, they both left and Bruce returned to the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked. Dick was resting against his pillows once more, looking a little pale and tired. 

Dick nodded. “Do you think Nate will be okay?”

“Nate will be fine; he’s in good hands with Dana. I’m more concerned about you.” Bruce arched a questioning eyebrow as he stared down at Dick. It couldn’t have been easy to discover how his kidnapping came about.

“I’m fine, Bruce. Honest. I actually feel better knowing it was an accident and that someone didn’t sell me out to those guys on purpose. I thought that was what happened.” 

It hurt Bruce that that was what Dick had assumed, even if his money meant that would always be a sickening possibility. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled Dick into a tight hug. “Well, I’m going to make sure nothing like this _ever_ happens again, okay, kiddo? I promise.”

Bruce could feel Dick return the hug and nod against his chest. He just hoped that Dick would understand that his promise applied to Robin too.


	19. Chapter 19

“There, all done.” Bruce finished tying Dick’s shoe laces and stood up. He smiled at the boy. “You ready to go home?”

“Am I ever!” Dick hopped off the bed and beamed up at Bruce, practically buzzing with eager anticipation. 

Bruce knew how he felt. After five days in the hospital, Dick was finally being discharged, allowing Bruce to do the one thing he had been longing to do for over a month; bring his son home. He slung an arm around Dick’s shoulder. “Alright, kiddo, let’s go home.” 

Heading for the door, Bruce was grateful there were no last minute doctor visits to delay them: Dr. Phillips had been to see Dick that morning, issuing a prescription for painkillers and instructions for Dick to follow over the next few weeks. He was due back at the hospital for a check-up in ten days, but for now the only thing that could potentially delay their journey home was the horde of reporters waiting outside.

Bruce scowled. He had thought the interest in Dick’s case would wane once CPS dropped the charges, but to his surprise it had increased. It seemed the story of Bruce losing his son to false accusations of child abuse, only for the boy to be kidnapped, drugged and almost killed while in state care made for a fascinating tale, and all of Gotham was buzzing for a first shot of reunited father and son. 

His scowl deepened. He wondered how fascinating they would find it if it happened to _their_ families!

“Bruce, you okay?” Dick’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he glanced down at the boy.

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“’Cause you look like you want to hit someone.”

Bruce gave a small laugh as they stopped at the elevators and he pressed the button. “You’re not wrong, Dick. But it probably wouldn’t go down very well on camera, especially given everything that’s happened with CPS.”

“You mean the reporters?” guessed Dick, the smile sliding off his face as the doors pinged open.

Bruce grimaced, stepping in after Dick and pressing the ground floor button. He had warned Dick about the paparazzi presence that morning, but Dick hadn’t actually commented on them until now. Bruce had been hoping that it was because he was more comfortable about facing them with his guardian there, but that clearly wasn’t the case. “Yes.”

Dick bit his lip. “Are there a lot of them down there?” 

He looked nervous and Bruce squeezed his good shoulder to reassure him. “There are. But you’re with me and they wouldn’t dare overstep while I’m around. Plus, Gordon has sent a few officers to make sure things don’t get out of hand. It’s not going to be like last time, Dick, I promise.”

“How long do you think it’ll be before they get tired of this?”

Bruce bit back the ‘probably never’ that rose to the tip of his tongue. The paparazzi would never stop hounding them, but that wasn’t what Dick needed to hear right before they faced a mob of them. “Give them a week and they’ll be looking for another story, Dick.”

“Liar,” said Dick, quirking his lips in a half-smile.

Bruce sighed heavily as the elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors opened. “Alright. The paparazzi are always going to be around, but I’m looking into a way of protecting you from them, of making it illegal for them to harass you.”

They stepped into the lobby and Dick looked up at Bruce quizzically. “How are you going to do that?”

“Kevin is working on helping me with a campaign to induce the Senate to pass a Bill protecting the children of public figures. Apparently, several celebrities in the state of California are already campaigning for something similar and are close to having California legislation changed. I’m hoping that will pave the way for us to get a similar Bill through faster.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“Yes, because I’m going to make sure it does,” Bruce replied firmly. He caught sight of the two police officers Gordon had sent to the hospital standing by the front door and sighed again. Damn paparazzi for wasting valuable police time like this.

They joined the officers by the doors and the tallest of them greeted Bruce. “Hello, Mr. Wayne. I’m Jack Freely.”

“Officer Freely,” said Bruce, shaking his hand. “Thank you for doing this.”

The man waved him away. “Just doing our job. Now, the plan for this is that we’re going to surround you both until we get you to the car. Your butler has managed to park a few feet from the bottom steps so it shouldn’t take long. Once you’re in, we’ll keep the crowd back until the car can pull away. Commissioner Gordon is sending officers to your house so you can get through there as well.” 

Bruce nodded. Someone had leaked that Dick was being released today and the gates at Wayne Manor had been a veritable mob scene since early morning. It had taken him and Alfred almost ten minutes to get through, and that had been on the way _to_ the hospital. He could only imagine the frenzy there would be when they knew Dick was in the car. 

A roar went up outside and Bruce knew they’d been spotted. The crowd sounded ugly and he hoped Alfred hadn’t been too badly harassed when he went to fetch the car. He looked down at Dick who was staring through the glass doors with undisguised nerves.

“Are you ready, kiddo?”

Dick let out a breath and jutted his chin forward in determination. “Yes.”

“Then let’s do this.” Bruce put his arm around Dick’s shoulders and pulled him closer so that his broken arm was sheltered by Bruce’s side. “Just keep your head down and follow my feet, okay?”

Dick nodded, and the police offers took up flanking positions before pushing open the doors. 

The screams and roars of the waiting media was almost deafening. Bruce felt Dick tense immediately from where he was pressed into his side. Tightening his grip on the boy’s shoulders while holding his other arm in front of Dick’s lowered head, Bruce moved forward in tandem with the officers. The paparazzi surged towards them, blinding them with camera flashes, and Bruce fought to keep his face neutral. He had enough experience to know that snarls and scowls were more likely to make some jackass provoke him into reacting. And while Bruce would be only too happy to break some vulture’s nose, his aim here was to get Dick in the car as fast as possible. So he chose to keep his eyes fixed in front of him and ignore the wild screams and the camera pops and flashes as they closed in around them. 

Fortunately, just as he’d reassured Dick in the elevator, the presence of the police officers and Bruce himself were enough to ensure that the mob maintained a careful distance, shouting questions at them from where they were clustered around them, but never actually touching them.

“Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wayne! What–?”

“How does it feel to have Richard back?”

“Are you going to sue CPS for–?”

“Richard, how does it feel to be going home?”

“How did Richard’s kidnappers find him? Was…in CPS?”

“Are CPS…happened to Richard in their care?”

“Mr. Wayne, have you given any thoughts–?”

“Richard, what…kidnappers do to you?”

Most of the questions were indecipherable, tangled up in the howl of noise and confusion, but some of them made Bruce clench his jaw in an effort not to snap and snarl. _Don’t talk to him, leave him alone._

Only halfway down the steps and it was already taking everything Bruce had not to lash out. He was used to media swarms like this one, but it was only Dick’s second time being exposed to such a situation. And after a terrifying first experience, Bruce could feel him shaking with nerves, further inciting his own anger into a buzzing, protective rage. 

A few paparazzi ducked down to try and take a shot of Dick’s face, lowered and hidden behind his guardian’s arm. Bruce snarled furiously at the brazen action. If his arms hadn’t been preoccupied with sheltering Dick, those men would have found themselves with their fucking cameras smashed back into their fucking noses!

Finally, they reached the bottom of the steps and the car came into view. Bruce felt the officers pack closer around them as the crowd tightened and quickened his step. “Almost there, Dick,” he called to the boy.

Dick didn’t respond, and Bruce guessed he either didn’t hear him or was concentrating on following Bruce’s footsteps.

The police officers pushed and shoved the last few feet to the car, clearing a path to the back door as they did so. One of them knocked on Alfred’s window to alert him to their presence and Bruce heard the central locking whir into action. One of the officers opened the back door and Bruce hustled Dick towards it, sheltering him protectively while he climbed in.

“Thank you!” Bruce yelled at the nearest officer, before clambering in after Dick. Someone slammed the door shut behind him and he once more heard the click of the central locking. 

And not a moment too soon. The handle on Dick’s side of the car jiggled when someone tried to open it from the outside, causing Dick to jerk reflexively. Bruce growled low in his throat. “Let’s get out of here, Alfred.”

“At once, sir,” Alfred responded, and the car rolled slowly forward. 

Bruce could see the police officers herding the mob back from the car so it could pull away from the curb. Their job was made easier by the fact that the paparazzi could no longer get a shot of Bruce or Dick, and were breaking up quickly. Thank god for tinted windows. He turned back to Dick who was trying to buckle his seatbelt with somewhat shaky fingers. 

“Are you alright?” Bruce asked, finishing the task for him.

Dick nodded before smiling up at him. “I can’t believe I’m really going home, Bruce.”

“Me either, kiddo,” Bruce whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. “Me either.”

oOo

Getting through the gates at Wayne Manor was easier than Bruce had anticipated. The officers that Gordon had dispatched to contain the mob did an excellent job of crowd control. It only took the car minutes to roll smoothly through the throng.

When the gates closed shut behind them, Dick heaved a sigh of relief and slumped back in his seat. “I’m not leaving the house for a week,” he declared. “Those reporters are nuts!”

No one disagreed with him.

The car cruised up the drive, and before it had even pulled into the garage, Dick had his seatbelt undone and one hand on the door handle. “I’m home, I’m home,” he mumbled gleefully, half to himself and half to Bruce.

Bruce laughed. “And home isn’t going anywhere. Give Alfred a chance to park the car, Dick.”

“I second that suggestion,” Alfred spoke up, guiding the car into the extensive garage adjoining the manor. “Opening the door before the vehicle has come to a complete stop is certain to incur injury and I would hate for your homecoming to be spoiled by something as dreadful as that, wouldn’t you, Master Dick?”

“Sorry, Alfred,” said Dick sheepishly. But the gentle rebuke did nothing to curb his enthusiasm because the instant Alfred turned the engine off, Dick was out of the car like a shot and heading for the house.

“Careful on the stairs, Dick!” Bruce called after him, climbing out of the car.

The boy shouted a response that Bruce couldn’t hear before he disappeared from view, clattering up the steps to the manor. 

“He needs to slow down and be more careful,” Bruce stated, as Alfred climbed out of the car. “We can’t afford any more injuries after this mess with CPS. What?” he added, seeing something in the older man’s expression.

“I was just wondering if you plan on wrapping him in cotton wool for the duration of his recovery only, or can we expect such caution indefinitely, sir?”

Bruce scowled at Alfred’s mild expression. “I’m serious, Alfred.”

“So am I,” replied Alfred, removing Dick’s bag from the trunk of the car. “Master Dick is by nature an active and extroverted boy. Smothering him with overprotection will only be met with resistance, and it will create problems between you, sir.”

“You’re not just talking about me yelling at him for running on the stairs, are you?” 

“Master Bruce, it didn’t work before and it won’t work now.”

“You don’t know that,” Bruce argued. It stung that Alfred was so against Robin’s retirement when he had once been so against his existence.

“Unfortunately, I do,” the older man retorted. “Sir, you must reconsider-”

“Hey, c’mon, what’s taking so long?” Dick’s voice interrupted suddenly, and he appeared on the steps again, his head cocked to one side and his expression a mixture of excitement, longing and impatience.

 _He mustn’t have his key,_ Bruce realized. 

“Master Dick, what have I told you about impatience?” Alfred reprimanded lightly.

“Sorry, Alfred. It’s just, I haven’t seen home in over a month!” 

“Then a few minutes more minutes shan’t make much of a difference, shall they, young sir?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

They walked towards him and Bruce hid a small smile of amusement to see Dick jittering impatiently on the stairs. It reminded him of a Christmas morning when Dick was eleven and kept trying to get Bruce out of bed after a late patrol. He’d been too excited about giving Bruce his present to wait.

Something cold slithered through his stomach when he thought of how many Christmas Eve’s he had spent on patrol instead of at home with his son. And he’d very nearly been robbed of the chance to ever do so again. Bruce really wondered about his own priorities sometimes.

He and Alfred climbed the stairs to join Dick, and Bruce unlocked the door that lead into the front hall of Wayne Manor. As they crossed the threshold into the house, Dick released a breath and stared happily around him, clearly drinking in the view.

Bruce exchanged a smile with Alfred. Seeing Dick standing there made Wayne Manor feel like home again. The house had been far too quiet and empty without him for the last few weeks. Stepping up beside the boy, he put one hand on Dick’s uninjured shoulder. “Welcome home, kiddo.”

Dick, looking indescribably happy, beamed up at him, and it was the first time in weeks that Bruce felt himself truly relax. “So,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair, “what do you want to do first?”

“Um…” Dick shot a sheepish, almost hopeful glance at Alfred, “I am a little hungry…”

The butler gave the tiniest of smiles. “I can prepare you a light snack if you wish, but try not to ruin your appetite; I’m cooking crab-stuffed mushrooms for dinner this evening.”

Dick cheered and tackled the older man with a one-armed hug, making him drop the bag he was holding. “Alfred, you’re the greatest!” 

“You flatter me, Master Dick,” Alfred said fondly, smoothing one hand over the back of Dick’s head. “But surely you knew I was going to make your favourite dish in celebration of your homecoming?”

“I didn’t think about it,” Dick admitted. “I was too excited about coming home.”

Alfred nodded sagely. “Naturally.”

“If we’re having crab-stuffed mushrooms, then maybe, maybe I should just have a few cookies instead of something more filling. You know, so I don’t ruin my appetite for dinner?” Dick suggested, looking up at Alfred with a deceptively innocent gaze that Bruce knew was anything but.

He coughed to cover his laughter while Alfred’s lips twitched. “I think we can break the no-cookies-before-dinner rule in honour of the occasion. Would you like milk or hot chocolate with them? ”

“Hot chocolate, please,” Dick replied, squeezing him tightly one more time before letting go.

“Very good, Master Dick. Coffee for you, sir?” Alfred turned to Bruce.

“Please, Alfred, thank you.”

“Excellent. I shall bring them into the den shortly.” Picking up Dick’s bag, Alfred gave the boy another smile before climbing the stairs.

“Smooth move, kiddo,” Bruce congratulated Dick once the older man was out of earshot.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Dick replied airily, but there was a wide grin on his face.

Bruce chuckled. “Of course you don’t.”

They headed into the den. The fire was set in the grate and Bruce put a match to it. Within minutes, flames were dancing merrily, making the room seem cosier than it had in weeks. Bruce gave a sigh of satisfaction and sat into an easy chair by the fireplace, directly opposite the one Dick had thrown himself into. Reclining comfortably in the chair, he smiled at Dick and asked, “So, how does it feel to be home?”

“There are no words for how awesome it feels.”

They passed a peaceful afternoon, talking by the fire. Or rather, Dick talked and Bruce listened, that was how things usually went between them. Several times, Dick mentioned Robin, the team and Mount Justice, but Bruce managed to divert him from those topics with a few well-placed questions or non-committal “mmmmm’s.” He didn’t want to tell Dick about Robin until the boy had had more time to recover, and he certainly didn’t want to ruin the boy’s homecoming by giving him news that he knew would result in a fight. Besides, Bruce admitted to himself, he still had some doubts about Robin’s retirement and he wanted the chance to consider those first.

Unfortunately for Bruce, he lost that chance after dinner. Lounging in his easy chair in the den, enjoying his coffee and aiming for a bit of a snooze before he went out as Batman, he was shaken out of his pleasant mood when Dick suddenly said, “You’re not taking Robin away from me, Bruce.” 

He frowned, because how could Dick know? “Who said anything about taking Robin away from you?”

“No one. They didn’t need to. You’ve had this look on your face for days, and it’s the same look that you had after Two-Face. Not to mention that you change the subject every time I mention Robin.”

Bruce’s frown deepened. Dick hadn’t been talking about Robin that afternoon because he missed being Robin, Dick had been talking about Robin to suss _him_ out. When had the boy gotten so good at reading him? “Okay, you’ve got me,” he conceded. “But surely you can understand why we have to do this, Dick, after everything that’s happened with CPS.”

“Actually, no, I don’t, because I don’t see how it’s still an issue if everything has been sorted with CPS.”

Bruce sighed. “It has been sorted, Dick, but that doesn’t mean another injury won’t get them involved again. If anything, it’s more likely since your old injuries are now on their radar.”

“Old injuries that were accounted for,” Dick reminded him. 

“That doesn’t mean they can’t create problems. Dick, I am not taking the chance that CPS will take you away from me again!”

“That isn’t the only option, Bruce!” Dick fired back. “We can do more training to make sure I don’t get hurt again, redesign my costume so that it’s stronger, like yours–”

“My suit has more Kevlar than yours because I fight at close quarters! The whole point of yours being lighter is so you can use your acrobatics to keep you out of the fight!”

Dick gave a small grin of triumph. “Exactly, Bruce, I stay _out_ of the fighting. I hadn’t been hurt as Robin since I was eleven until what happened with Mammoth. I’ve gotten better the more I’ve trained and–”

“Two years without injury is not something to be pleased about. You should never have been injured in the first place. Not to mention that I’ve been doing this for years longer than you have, and I still get hurt.”

“But you said it yourself, you fight at close quarters so of course you’re going to get hurt,” Dick persisted.

“And just because you’ve been trained not to engage doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. What happened with Mammoth proves that.”

“That happened because the rest of the team weren’t paying attention to what was happening with Mammoth and Superboy. I’m not saying it was their fault,” Dick added hurriedly, “but it’s something that can be fixed with training.”

“But all of that still doesn’t guarantee that you won’t get hurt!”

“And not being Robin doesn’t mean I’ll never get hurt! I mean, my head injury happened at school and then what the kidnappers did…” 

Dick’s voice tailed off and Bruce softened his own tone before replying. “But that’s just it, Dick, it’s so easy to get hurt. Don’t you see, we need to lessen the chances of that so CPS can’t take you away again. It’s for the best, kiddo–”

“It’s for your best,” Dick interrupted, “not mine! Bruce, I know you don’t like seeing me injured, but it’s not fair to hurt me by taking Robin away so that you don’t have to deal with it! How would you feel if you couldn’t be Batman anymore?”

Bruce didn’t answer. Much as he hated that there was a need for Batman, it was also the one thing that eased the awful grief of his parents’ murder; that had stopped him from slipping into total darkness. Batman had healed him. Not necessarily in healthy ways, but it had healed him nonetheless. He studied the flushed face of the boy in front of him. It hadn’t even been five years since Dick’s parents were murdered – his wounds were far rawer than Bruce’s own. Dick was still healing which meant that he needed Robin even more than Bruce needed Batman. 

But Bruce needed Dick too. He couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to the boy, and that chance increased tenfold whenever he went out as Robin.

“It’s not fair to take Robin away from me just because it’s easier for you, Bruce,” Dick whispered, as if hearing his thoughts.

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Dick, this isn’t just about me. CPS–”

“CPS won’t be a problem if we’re more careful in future,” Dick replied desperately. “I’ll train harder than ever! And I promise to be more careful, a hundred times more careful! Bruce, please…”

His blue eyes were wide and pleading as they stared at Bruce, and the billionaire pursed his lips. If he took Robin away now, it would make Dick utterly miserable, and possibly damage their relationship. But if he didn’t and Dick was injured again…

Bruce gave a frustrated sigh and ran both hands through his hair. It was the same dilemma he’d been battling for the last few weeks; should he keep Dick happy or should he keep Dick safe? He wanted both for Dick, they were the two things he wanted most for him, but which one was more important? And why the hell couldn’t they have both?! There was something just not fair about the fact that they couldn’t.

“Bruce,” said Dick, after several minutes of silence, “I– I don’t want to fight with you but…you can’t stop me from being Robin.”

“Dick, I’m your guardian. Your welfare falls to me,” Bruce reminded him quietly.

“And the decision of whether or not I’m Robin falls to me,” Dick replied, his voice also quiet. “Robin is part of who I am, Bruce, you can’t take that away from me. You tried before and it didn’t work.”

Bruce winced at hearing Alfred’s words from earlier. He had retired Robin after what happened with Two-Face, and that had been an utter disaster that had nearly cost him the boy. Even worse was that it was a harsh reminder of the fact that Dick was so determined to be Robin that he would do it without Batman. And a Robin without Batman would be far more likely to get hurt than a Robin with Batman.

“Retiring Robin can’t always be your first solution when things get hard, Bruce,” Dick pointed out softly. “You always taught me that I can’t run from my problems.”

Instead of replying, Bruce studied him. Dick’s flushed face, wide eyes and trembling hands showed just how nervous and upset this conversation was making him, but his whole argument with Bruce had been reasonably calm. In fact, it had been more of a heated discussion than an argument. Bruce had been expecting a full scale screaming match once Dick found out about his plans for Robin, but instead the boy had restrained himself with a level of control Bruce couldn’t help but be impressed by. It proved that Dick was growing up.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Bruce ground out, “Alright, fine.”

“What?”

Bruce opened his eyes. “I won’t retire Robin. BUT,” he added loudly, before Dick could let out the yell he knew was on the tip of the boy’s tongue, “once you’re fully healed, your training will intensify. We’re going to spend more time on evasive and defensive manoeuvres, as well as increasing your tactics training.”

“Yes! Thank you, Bruce! I promise I’ll work twice as hard!”

“The team are also going to have a considerably more training in stealth, tactics and awareness of their surroundings,” Bruce continued. “You are going to be the one to tell them why that is.”

“You mean…about not being aware of what was happening with Mammoth and Superboy?”

“And the fact that it lead to you getting injured because you should never have had to engage with Mammoth.”

“But why–”

“They need to take this seriously, Dick. You don’t have powers like they do and the team needs to be far more aware of that.”

“Artemis doesn’t have powers either,” Dick pointed out.

“All the more reason for the team to increase their training.”

“But, Bruce–”

“Those are my terms for you staying Robin, Dick, take it or leave it.”

Looking slightly unhappy, Dick sighed. “Alright, fine. I agree.”

“Good.” Bruce softened his tone. “Dick, I’m not trying to make your team see you as weak. I’m just trying to make sure you stay safe when you’re in the field. You’re important to me, kiddo, and I need to know that you’ll be okay. You can soften the blow by telling the team that we’re going to be focusing on each individual team member’s weakness so that you’ll all be better equipped to handle it.”

“You mean like how Kryptonite affects Superboy?”

Bruce nodded. “And how fire can affect Miss Martian and Aqualad. Or how Kid Flash’s metabolism means he can weaken if he doesn’t get enough food.”

“So…it’s to protect all of us?” 

“Yes, Dick, it’s to protect all of you.” _But you most of all._ Bruce didn’t voice his last thought since he suspected that would bruise the boy’s ego. But he just could not take the chance that what happened with CPS would happen again. Aside from being unable to stomach the idea of losing his son again, Bruce was afraid of what might happen to Dick; he’d almost been killed in foster care once already. The ruthlessness of kidnappers made them dangerous. Speaking of which… “Dick, there’s something else we need to do.”

“There is?” Dick raised a questioning eyebrow.

“We need to put out the word that Dick Grayson is taking self-defence lessons so that you’ll have a reasonable excuse to defend yourself if you’re ever threatened again. I’ll pretend that I’m having a private tutor come to the manor since you don’t actually need lessons, I just want you to be able to use those skills.”

“But…I thought you were afraid of people making the connection between me and Robin?”

“You’ve been kidnapped and almost killed twice in less than a year, Dick,” Bruce pointed out, shuddering. “No one in Gotham would question you learning self-defence after that. Besides, as far as Gotham are concerned, your skills would strictly be at the self-defence level, nothing like what you can do as Robin.”Bruce scowled. _And I hope to Christ you never have to use them._

“Oh. Okay.” Dick smiled. “I like that idea, Bruce. I hate having to pretend I’m defenceless.”

“I hate it too, that’s why we’re not doing it anymore.” Bruce wasn’t letting Dick fall into such a vulnerable position every again.

“You know, people thinking I’m doing self-defence might also come in handy for if I’m ever injured as Robin again,” said Dick thoughtfully, before adding hurriedly, “Not that I plan on ever getting hurt again! But you know, let’s say if I got a black eye or something, self-defence lessons would give us an excuse for CPS.”

“No more injuries!” said Bruce vehemently. “I don’t care if you can give a viable excuse, there will be no more injuries. You’ve promised me you will work twice as hard to ensure that and I plan on holding you to it.”

“Okay, Bruce, okay.”

They looked at each other for a moment before Dick gave Bruce a megawatt grin.

“What?” demanded Bruce, because that grin looked _way_ too smug.

“I’ve just realized, this is the first time I’ve ever won an argument with you.”

Bruce couldn’t help but laugh, and the last of the tension drained from the room. “I wouldn’t get too used to it if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the master negotiator in this house, kiddo.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever won a negotiation with Alfred?”

“…No.”

Dick burst into laughter.

“Alfred doesn’t count,” Bruce reminded him, a large grin now tugging at his own face. “No one has ever won a negotiation with Alfred.”

“You think anyone ever will?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Heh. Not unless Alfred’s been bodysnatched.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Bodysnatched?”

“What? It could happen!”

“You and Wally watch too many movies.”

Dick grinned.

“So,” said Bruce, changing pace, “what are your plans for the rest of your first evening at home?”

“Um…actually, I kinda thought maybe, maybe we could watch a movie together?” Dick looked hopefully at him.

“A movie?” Bruce repeated, surprised. They rarely did that, mainly because their taste in movies was so different.

“Yeah. Un-unless you’ve got to go out,” Dick added, his face falling a little.

Bruce glanced at the clock. It was past nine pm; time for Batman to be heading out. Even though it was Dick’s first night home, Bruce had intended on going out as Batman. He’d missed patrol several times over the last few weeks while working on Dick’s case or spending time with him in the hospital, and crime was up a little.

But then he looked back at where Dick was trying to hide his disappointed expression, and felt something tug inside of him. He’d only just gotten his son back after a nightmarish few weeks, not to mention what Dick had suffered. Bruce had put Gotham first many times before…too many times really. It was his son’s turn.

Bruce shook his head, making Dick’s whole face light up. “No, kiddo. The only place I have to be tonight is right here at home with you.”


End file.
